The Name of the Game
by TheFisherKitty
Summary: Ginny enters the world of professional Quidditch, forming an unlikely friendship in the process. But how will this foe-turned-friend affect her friends, family, and fledgling Quidditch career? Post-Hogwarts. Rated M as of Chapter 16.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter Harry Potter fic. Please be kind and please enjoy! =)

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**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 1: The Name of the Game is Quidditch_  
**

Ginny Weasley stood on the Quidditch pitch, having a serious mental discussion with herself about life and fate and taking her destiny in her own hands. It was about time, wasn't it? Her life had been, until recently, almost completely spelled out, one role leading to another, inevitably directing her to a foregone conclusion. The only daughter of the Weasley clan, the younger sister of six brothers, now five, and the girlfriend of the Chosen One - it seemed like the past ten years of her life had been dictated from the moment her brother had chanced to share a compartment on the Hogwarts Express with the famed Harry Potter. Yet, in the years after her graduation, she'd come to feel that something was lacking.

She couldn't put her finger on what it was, exactly. She had gone through the motions, attending Ministry functions, making appearances for the press, pretending to be every inch the girlfriend Harry Potter should have, the future wife of the Chosen One, Savior of the wizarding world.

When Harry had washed out of Auror training, she hadn't been surprised. He may have gotten a pass on his NEWTs, but that didn't automatically guarantee the skills required to become an Auror. He'd gone on to play Quidditch professionally, picked up by Puddlemere United at the urging of Oliver Wood. Oliver couldn't have had to urge very hard, either; Ginny was sure any team wouldn't have hesitated to snap up someone with Harry's glorious reputation, even if he wasn't the best Seeker out there.

Oh yes, he was good, but not the best. Most would never admit it, he was far too well-liked for that, but it was true. Though he'd been the Golden Boy of Gryffindor and was not unskilled, a great deal of Harry's successes on the Quidditch pitch had been down to sheer luck. Ginny's older brother Charlie had been a better Seeker in his time at Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory, before his untimely death, had been better. Ginny herself had been better, the few times she'd had the chance to play the position. Even so, Harry had become a Quidditch player, living her personal dream while she sat on the sidelines or hung on his arm like a fashionable cloak at yet more public functions.

Yet even this wasn't what left her so dissatisfied. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, something had seemed off from the moment they'd first gotten together. Still, she had willingly assumed and maintained the role of dutiful girlfriend. In those first few years after the war ended, she simply didn't want more than that. The war had taken so much from her, from her family, that for a long time she didn't feel that she had any more to give, and for a long time after that she couldn't bear the thought of bringing her parents further disappointment.

Then, one day, a very excited Hermione had let slip that Harry was planning to propose. At that moment, Ginny knew.

She couldn't be the wife of Harry Potter.

She'd liked him since she had first seen him on Platform 9 ¾, when she was only ten years old, and it now occurred to her that she was no longer that little girl, and perhaps Harry was not the person she had imagined him to be. He wasn't a bad person or anything, but the more Ginny thought about it, the more she realized that acting on a crush she'd developed as a ten-year-old girl was more than a little insane. In the end, she had broken it off. It wouldn't have been fair to either of them to continue on as she had been doing… least of all to her.

There was a life to be lived, she felt; the possibility of something greater, of something real: the life she could have had if the war had not interrupted, had not consumed her, had not claimed the life of her brother Fred. The life she could still have, though nothing could undo the war and the losses that went with it.

Ten months later, here she was, at the general tryouts for the British and Irish Quidditch League. If she made it through this stage, she'd be enrolled in a training camp to hone her potential, and from there had the chance to be drafted to a League team. That was _if _she could demonstrate satisfactory potential during training, which was only _if _she could make it past the tryouts in the first place. Harry's moderate skill, great luck, and natural ability on a broom had gotten him through with ease, helped along more than a little bit by his tremendous popularity. Ginny, on the other hand, hadn't flown much in the intervening years, and had spent the last ten months on her broom training with Charlie and George as often as she could get them to help. The trouble was, Charlie's job kept him in Romania much of the time, and George just didn't fly as well as he once had. Whether it was the loss of his ear or the loss of his twin brother that was the cause, Ginny couldn't say.

Her brother Ron could have been helpful, of course, but had chosen not to be; while Harry had been accepted to a team, Ron had not, and had decided to treat Ginny's efforts with scornful disdain accordingly. Ron's greatest ambition in life now seemed to be centered on getting her and Harry back together, a pursuit Harry didn't seem to find objectionable in the least. The two of them tended to be extremely overbearing when in her presence together, and Ginny made a point of being otherwise engaged whenever Harry was invited to the Burrow.

Ginny gritted her teeth as memories surfaced, unbidden and unwanted, of a handful of awkward encounters with her ex-boyfriend perpetrated upon her by her brother. Their mother had quickly realized how uncomfortable these incidents were for Ginny, though she, too, wanted her daughter to go back to Harry; nonetheless, Molly Weasley had decreed that there would be no surprise visits by Harry to the Burrow, and made sure to inform Ginny of his impending presence even when Ron conveniently 'forgot' to do so, as he often did. That didn't stop him from arranging for Harry to 'happen by' while they were out and about, and so public outings with Ron had needed to be curbed as well.

The pitch was sunny and warm as late spring was turning to summer, a perfect day for Quidditch. Training would last through summer, allowing those players with potential to train without fear of inclement weather. They would train under those conditions later with their teams, if chosen. For the summer, it would be all about practice, with various teams scouting them from time to time.

But first, there were open tryouts, set up to weed out those who thought they could just show up with a broom. Some people, she noted, hadn't even done that; there were plenty of people using old loaner brooms that belonged to the training ground. Her own broom, Fred's old Cleansweep 5, wasn't much better, but it was what she had to work with. That George had given it to her when she returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year meant something, and had spared her from using a school broom which would be even older and more unwieldy, but the majority of the serious applicants around her carried brooms that had been manufactured in the last ten years, and some even had top-notch, cutting edge racing brooms.

As she glanced from broom to broom, keenly aware that the Cleansweep 5 in her hand had ceased production by the mid-1950s, she suddenly noticed that one of the newest-model brooms was held by someone very familiar, with very familiar white-blonde hair… someone she did not particularly want to see. She realized, too, that he had just spotted her spotting him.

"Fuck," she muttered to herself as he sauntered over to her group, condescending sneer firmly in place. "What is he doing here?"

Tryouts hadn't even begun, and things were already going spectacularly, mind-bogglingly, well-and-truly to shit. Draco Malfoy, of all people, just had to be at Quidditch tryouts with her. He'd get in, too, if he flew like he had in his Hogwarts days, of that she was certain. He had been a great flyer, a great Seeker, and not all of it was attributable to always having the best broom. Unlike Harry, almost none of it was attributable to luck, either; if anything, it was extraordinarily poor luck on Malfoy's part that he'd come into his own as a Seeker against Harry Potter.

It was almost as poor as the luck that kept her from ever being able to make a name for herself on the Gryffindor team, for Harry had always been the star, and even in the two years he wasn't there, all anyone ever did was lament his absence. Gryffindor just hadn't been ready for a new star, even after the war had ended.

"Well, if it isn't a Weasley," he opened snidely as he reached her. "One of you lot always seems to turn up. Like bad Knuts. Even your hair says so."

Ginny glared at him reproachfully. "Straight to the comment about my hair? That's disappointingly unoriginal, Malfoy, even for you."

"You're in the wrong group, Weaslette," he continued as if she hadn't said anything at all, pointing with his broomstick. "Beaters are over there."

"What makes you think I'm trying out for Beater?" she snapped.

"Your broom, of course. What is that, an old Cleansweep 5? Those were ancient when your brothers were flying on them at Hogwarts a decade ago. I suppose it's a hand-me-down?"

"It belonged to Fred," she informed him haughtily, "and it worked for him just fine."

"Ah, yeah…" he replied, hesitating slightly as a shadow passed over his face for an instant. "Well, do you know _why_ it worked for Fred?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes. She had been almost sure he was going to make some crack about Fred's death, was certain that he remembered that Fred had died, judging by the look on his face, but the expected cutting remark had not come, and she was left with a biting response on the tip of her tongue that now had no place in the conversation.

"I suppose you're going to tell me one way or another," she responded cautiously. "So, why?"

"Fred was a Beater. Beaters don't have to be as fast or agile as the other players. They can work with a broom like that, especially if they're as good as your brothers were. You're trying out for Chaser?"

"Obviously," Ginny stated, still eyeing him with mistrust, despite his knowledgeable and surprisingly complimentary reply. "That is why I'm standing in the Chaser group and all."

"Bad broom for a Chaser. It's sluggish and not nearly maneuverable enough for the position. It was good enough in its day, but now…" he trailed off with a shrug.

"I did just fine on it at Hogwarts in seventh year," she replied defensively, knowing he was right.

"You did alright on school brooms too, but you were playing against other students. Here, the competition is going to be a bit more challenging. Maybe not today, but eventually that broom isn't going to cut it, and I'm thinking sooner rather than later."

One of the tryout coordinators blew sharply on a whistle, and Malfoy took it as a cue to head back to the Seeker group before she could say anything. He didn't get more than a few feet before he stopped, turning to face her again.

"You're still in the wrong group, Weasley," he said, his tone completely serious. "I've seen you fly. You should be trying out for Seeker. Not on that broom, though."

With that, he returned to the collection of would-be Seekers waiting to be put through their paces, leaving Ginny with her mouth hanging open, empty of a suitable reply.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! If you like it and you want to know what happens next, show it some love and review! Please please please? And be sure to come back for Chapter 2! =)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Ron's kind of a jackass. I can't help it! He wants to be that way in this story! Here's Chapter 2; please be kind and please enjoy! =)

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**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 2: Chasing Dreams_  
**

By midday, Ginny had worked up quite a sweat. She was being put through her paces as a Chaser, and she was keeping up, but only barely. Malfoy had been correct; Fred's old Cleansweep 5 was not a Chaser's broom. It was too outdated, took too long to get up to top speed, which wasn't fast enough, and didn't handle as well as she needed. Her muscles ached from fighting the broom, coaxing every ounce of performance out of it just to be able to hold her own.

She'd be lucky just to make it through tryouts. There was no way she'd be able to get through the training camp on the Cleansweep as well.

_Hang it all, _she thought bitterly as she swooped around the opposing Chaser and snatched the Quaffle.

The reality of it was that she just couldn't afford a new broom at present. She couldn't even afford a _used _broom. She'd built almost nothing for herself in the past few years with Harry. Her family was barely making ends meets as usual, and she wouldn't take money they needed even if she hadn't felt she was too old to ask for it.

Even if she got in, she would fail.

She shot the Quaffle through the center goal hoop, unable to push down the thought of her Quidditch career circling down the toilet before it could even begin.

Ginny's frustrations grew as the afternoon wore on. She would be sore for days from what should have been an easy day, and there were still more tryouts to come the next day. She halfway found herself wishing she wouldn't get called back just so her failure wouldn't depend solely on a lack of funds. When the tryout coordinators blew their whistles, she landed, her heart heavy at the thought.

Across the pitch, she saw that flash of platinum blonde again. Malfoy was talking to one of the officials, who looked over a clipboard and nodded. Malfoy smirked smugly, and Ginny rolled her eyes. Of course he'd made it through, with the skill he possessed, and the fancy high-end broomstick on top of that. It looked as if the Seeker group was all sorted out; several of the applicants had been dismissed and were leaving the pitch, while Malfoy and six others remained.

Just as the official for the Chaser group was ready to read off names, a stocky woman with her hair pulled back approached him. Ginny recognized her immediately as Gwenog Jones, _the _Gwenog Jones, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies and Ginny's personal heroine. Gwenog and the official seemed to discuss something as they pored over the list, coming to an agreement at last as the Harpies Captain looked up, pointing in Ginny's direction.

"You! Weasley!" she called, her fingers curling into a beckoning gesture. Ginny trotted forward obediently.

"You're trying out for Chaser?" Gwenog asked.

"Yes, I played Chaser at Hogwarts," Ginny replied.

"Ever play Seeker?"

"A few games, when Harry Potter couldn't play," she answered, though it killed her to have to mention Harry's name. "I also played Seeker against my brother Charlie sometimes, at home, but that was just for fun."

"I'm impressed with your flying, Weasley, given that you managed to keep an edge over the other players even on that old Cleansweep. I'm not going to lie to you, though; that broom is a problem. You won't be able to develop your skills in training even if you make it through tryouts on that thing. It's a perfectly respectable broom when you're playing at the school level, but this is a professional Quidditch tryout."

Gwenog paused, taking a deep breath.

"I also want to see you try for Seeker. We've got eight slots, filled seven. I like your skills as a Chaser but I want to see what you can do when you're after the Snitch. But that broom will never cut it."

"Yes," Ginny agreed, though inside she was in despair. She couldn't possibly get another broom…

"Good," Gwenog stated, by way of dismissal. "I'll see you here tomorrow, with a better broom, in the Seeker group, and you'll show me what you can do."

Ginny watched her idol walk away before turning to leave the pitch. She harbored curiously mixed feelings of elation and abject despair. On the one hand, she'd made it through the first day of tryouts, and Gwenog Jones was personally interested in seeing her try for Seeker! But at the same time, she was totally screwed. She couldn't afford a broom… If only Ron would lend her his Cleansweep 11! She doubted he'd be any less obstinate than he had when she'd originally asked him, however. It seemed that if he wasn't the one riding it to glory, no one else could, either.

There was nothing for it. She'd try again to borrow Ron's broom, and when that failed, she would return in the morning and inform Gwenog Jones that she would not be trying out for Seeker after all.

"Weasley!" a voice called from behind her. Malfoy's voice. Of course. This experience wouldn't be complete without him weighing in on the subject of her poverty. She turned to find him walking quickly to catch up with her, which was unsurprising. Malfoy didn't run for anything except his life.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice heavy with resignation. Better to get it over with, she supposed.

"Jones asked you about trying out for Seeker, didn't she?" he remarked, more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, what about it?"

He shrugged casually, that smug smirk prancing across his face again.

"Oh, it's only that I might have told her to keep an eye on you, that's all."

"You… told _Gwenog Jones_… to keep an _eye _on me?" Ginny's eyes widened. "Why did you? _How _did you? Who can just walk up to Gwenog Jones and suggest something like that?"

"It's not like it's that hard. She's just another girl, when you really think about it," he said, shrugging again. "As to _why, _that's easy enough. I know you can play Seeker. I also happen to know that the Harpies' primary Seeker spent a lot of time injured last year."

"So?" Ginny snapped, her irritability surfacing and directing itself, rather wrongly, at Malfoy.

"So Gillian Murphy is looking to retire this season, and their reserve Seeker isn't particularly up to the job. Jones can't really announce it at this stage, but they'll be looking for a more talented seeker than they have, and as you undoubtedly know, Holyhead only takes girls."

"Well, that would be bloody brilliant if I had half of a broom to fly on," she replied temperamentally.

"She told you to get a better one, then," Malfoy stated knowingly. "So what are you going to get?"

"I think I'm going to borrow my brother's Cleansweep 11," she said, allowing herself to pretend for the moment that it would actually happen. If finances had to be the Weasleys' Achilles heel, at least their strength lay in their bond as a family. Or at least, it was supposed to.

"Cleansweep 11..." Malfoy wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That'll be Ron, then."

"I'm surprised, Malfoy," she smirked. "I wouldn't have thought you paid my brother enough attention to know what broom he rides."

"I pay attention to the brooms, not your brothers," he hissed. "Anyway, I wouldn't be caught dead on a Cleansweep. They're brooms for Beaters and Keepers, passable for Chasers, but a Seeker should be on something more agile. Take my Nimbus, for example…"

"My family have always ridden Cleansweeps," Ginny spat.

"And I shouldn't wonder, they're the cheapest option," he replied.

"There it is. I was wondering when you'd bring this around to my family's finances!" Ginny cried shrilly. "Some things never change!"

"What? I only wanted to talk brooms!" Malfoy's tone was incredulous. "Cleansweeps are bloody cheap! That's fine for just about anyone but a…"

"But a Malfoy? Because you're so damn special!" Unfortunately, Ginny had taken Malfoy's incredulous tone as a mocking one.

"A _Seeker, _Weasley. Anyone but a _Seeker._ Good luck catching the Snitch on your brother's bloody Cleansweep, if you can even manage to pry it from his grubby fingers!"

Malfoy stalked off, muttering something about bloody irrational redheads, and Ginny felt herself suddenly on the verge of tears. She made it off the pitch before they fell, and she realized she was crying not because Malfoy had said anything particularly hurtful, but because he was right. Her dreams were hanging on someone who wouldn't think twice about snuffing them out.

xxxxx

Tears threatened again that night, when Ginny asked Ron again at dinner if she could borrow his broom. She really only needed it for the summer, as a broom would be supplied by the team that picked her, if she was chosen. Typically, Ron had refused, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes that she had helped their mother prepare.

"You've got your own broom," he garbled stubbornly. "You don't need mine!"

"Her broom isn't fast enough," George stated quietly from further down the table.

"Oh, George, I don't mean…" Ginny said helplessly.

"It's alright, Gin," George replied with a weak smile. "I'm happy you gave Fred's old broom a little more life, but it's time to retire it. You can't fly Chaser on something that old, not at pro tryouts."

"I'm trying for Seeker, actually," Ginny informed him.

"Then it goes double for that," George assured her.

"Not to worry, George," Arthur interjected, smiling kindly at his remaining twin son. "It will always have a place in our broom shed."

George wanly smiled his gratitude and turned his attention back to Ginny.

"Why Seeker, now? It seemed you were set on being a Chaser."

"Yeah, why? You're not that good a Seeker, not like Harry or Charlie," Ron added churlishly.

"That is _not _what I'm saying," George snapped. "I only want to know what prompted her to change her mind. You know she can play the position, Ron."

Ron only shrugged indifferently and stuffed more food into his mouth.

"Actually, Gwenog Jones asked me to try for it," Ginny told George, ignoring Ron.

"You're kidding!" Ron burst out, spitting potatoes everywhere.

"No, I'm not! Apparently… uh… _somebody _recommended me to her, so she watched me when I was trying for Chaser, and afterward she pulled me aside and asked me. She says I need a better broom, though."

"That's brilliant, Gin!" George beamed at her, disappointment at retiring his twin's broom momentarily forgotten. "She's right about the broom, too. Even a Cleansweep 11 isn't ideal for a Seeker, but it's the fastest broom in the house…"

"I said no," Ron muttered darkly.

The entire table seemed to freeze for a moment as Ron glowered at all of them.

"Excuse me, dear?" Molly broke the uncomfortable silence.

"I said no," Ron repeated. "It's my broom and I'm not loaning it to Ginny for the whole summer. This whole thing is ridiculous anyway."

"What?" Ginny cried out, hot tears kept in check only by her anger. "How can you say that? How can you say it's ridiculous when I was asked to try for the position by _Gwenog Jones? _I've got a poster of her on my wall, for Merlin's sake!"

"Well bully for you then!" Ron snapped. "But I don't see how you've got any reasonable chance when I didn't get on, and I don't want to put unnecessary wear and tear on my broom!"

"No… no _reasonable chance? _Unnecessary wear and tear?" Ginny stammered, thoroughly incensed. "That is such… such bloody bullshit, Ron!"

"Ginevra! Language!" Molly cried. "And Ronald Weasley, lend your sister your broom!"

"No, I won't!" Ron shouted back. "It's my broom, and you can't force me to do it!"

The whole room seemed to freeze again, Molly and Arthur's faces contorted with shock at Ron's outburst. His temper was the stuff of legend, and while they'd had more than one note home about it in his days at Hogwarts, they had never in a million years dreamed he would turn it on his mother. Then time caught up and several things happened at once: Molly began to shout at her youngest son as tears leaked from her eyes, Arthur and George shouted with her, and both Ginny and Ron shoved back from the table and began shouting at each other, their chairs knocked back in the process.

"RONALD WEASLEY! NEVER IN MY YEARS AS A MOTHER…"

"DON'T SPEAK TO YOUR MOTHER THAT WAY, AND APOLOGIZE TO YOUR SISTER!"

"YOU BLOODY PRAT! I'M GOING TO TAKE YOU OUT BACK AND BEAT THE BOGIES OUT OF YOU!"

"HOW DARE YOU STAND IN THE WAY OF MY DREAMS, RON! WHAT'S IT TO YOU IF I BORROW YOUR STUPID BROOM ANYWAY?"

"WHY SHOULD I LEND IT TO YOU, WHEN YOU DON'T DESERVE IT?"

Silence fell again, just as suddenly, and the three other Weasleys present watched as Ron and Ginny faced off.

"How can you say I don't deserve this?" Ginny whispered, her voice breaking into a sob as the tears came.

"Why should you?" Ron bit out, looking around the room guiltily before fixing his eyes on his sister again. "Why should you get it when I didn't? Why should you have this when you dumped Harry?"

"Merlin, Ron! Is that what this is about? Me and Harry?" Ginny breathed, her voice pleading with her brother to see reason. "Harry has nothing to do with this! I only want to live my life for myself!"

"Well, I guess you should have thought of that before you expected everyone else to help you," Ron muttered. "I'm going to my room."

As Ron stalked out, both Molly and George looked inclined to follow, though for different reasons; Molly seemed to think a severe talking-to might set Ron right, and George looked ready to beat his younger brother savagely.

"Oh, just leave it alone," Ginny moaned as she righted her chair, sank into it, and rested her head on the table. "I'm sorry, all of you. I'm sorry I started this."

"It's not your fault in the slightest," George spoke up, glaring at their parents as though daring them to disagree. "If Ron wants to harbor a bug up his arse about you and Harry, that's no one's problem but his."

Arthur glanced at Molly and then, daringly and without her approval, stated, "Too right."

Molly wrung the edge of her apron in her hands.

"Oh, Ginny… You know how much I like Harry, he's practically like one of you kids to me, but… I know you had your reasons, and it's your life to live."

Ginny looked up, surprised at her mother's words. Molly had kept Ginny from having to see Harry unnecessarily, but she had never particularly come out in support for Ginny beyond that. Truthfully, Ginny didn't want or need people to take sides; she knew her family loved Harry, and she didn't want to take that from Harry or from them. She just didn't belong with him, and didn't really want to be around him in the meantime.

"I'm sorry we won't be able to do anything about Ron," Arthur added. "He's quite right that he's an adult and it's his broom to lend or not, as he wishes."

"But that doesn't mean we don't all know he's being a wanker about it," George added.

"… Right," Arthur finished, as Molly nodded her hesitant agreement.

"But George, don't call your brother names," Molly tacked on, seeming to feel that she'd fulfilled her motherly obligation by doing so.

"Well… thank you, all of you," Ginny murmured, wiping her tears away. "I just don't know what I'm going to do about a broom…"

Just then, there came a clatter at the window; the silhouette of a large owl could just be discerned against the darkness of the night outside. George jumped up and slid the window open, letting the bird inside, where it landed on the table with the huge package it carried.

Ginny found herself face to face with a huge, gray-faced eagle owl that was easily larger than even a large full-grown kneazle. The magnificent bird regarded her with enormous orange eyes that seemed to glow like hot coals, before stretching out its leg toward her. She untied the bit of parchment secured there, and the owl blinked lazily before taking flight through the window again.

Ginny unrolled the note.

_Weaslette,_

_Consider it a loaner. I expect it back in pristine condition._

_- D.M._

"What on Earth?" Molly exclaimed questioningly.

Ginny looked from the note to the conspicuously-shaped package and back again before tearing into the brown parcel paper. The wrappings fell away, revealing a broom, and not just a broom at that, but a racing broom, a black Nimbus 2001, its silver appointments gleaming in the lamplight. Come to think of it, the wood was gleaming too, polished with care to a high sheen. Ginny was willing to bet this broom hadn't looked any newer the day it had been made.

George gave a low whistle.

"A Nimbus 2001, very nice. A broom like that can certainly compete in Quidditch training, even if it is ten years old. Broom technology hasn't advanced _that _much in the last decade. Have you got a secret admirer, Gin?"

"According to the note, it's a loaner. I ran into a friend at the tryouts and he knew I needed a different broom, so… I guess he sent it."

"Is this friend someone we know?" Molly asked curiously.

"Um, nobody important," she replied evasively. Her eyes were on her brother, who was still surveying the broom with a critical eye.

George ran a finger over something he spotted on the handle. Ginny's eyes fell on it just as he noticed it: there, inlaid into the handle in silver, were the initials 'DM'. George raised his eyebrows and shot his sister a questioning glance. Then, so casually that their parents missed it, George smirked in a perfect imitation of Draco Malfoy.

_Fuck. _

George knew. Ginny looked at him evenly, silently warning him not to say anything.

Holding the broom out for her to take, George opened his mouth to speak. Ginny grimaced in anticipation of the uproar that would undoubtedly follow his revelation of the broom's owner.

"Nice broom," George said simply as he handed the broom back with a sneaky grin.

Ginny nodded solemnly in return. "Isn't it, though?"

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**A/N: There's Chapter 2! Special thanks to my first (and so far only) reviewer, dyk3adellic! That review is getting lonely though... leave more reviews to keep it company! =P**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 3; please be kind and please enjoy! =)

* * *

**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 3: Seeking Glory_  
**

Ginny sprawled back on her bed, examining the broomstick that Malfoy had sent and which was presently resting on top of her. The silver initials embedded into the handle had to have cost a good amount. Rather, a good amount extra; a broom like this had probably cost a fortune to begin with, even ten years ago, and the inlaid silver was obviously a custom job.

A broomstick was only really functional as an intact whole. The entire thing was imbued with a great deal of magic, and while they could take a beating, once broken, they could not be mended. They were like wands that way. For that reason, once could not simply gouge and add to one, even just the handle, without knowing precisely how to do it. That type of customization was expensive.

Possibly, it had been done by the manufacturer. Ginny had no doubt that Lucius Malfoy had that kind of money and that kind of pull. She couldn't remember whether she'd ever seen Draco Malfoy's broom close enough at Hogwarts. It was possible that a skilled broom craftsman could have added the initials later.

Ginny didn't know why she was thinking about it so much. She supposed it was because it seemed strangely personal to lend out something that someone had bothered to monogram. It wasn't just that, either; the broom had been cared for meticulously, and she knew that it had seen regular use at Hogwarts. It gave her the feeling that she had just been loaned something that was precious.

Maybe she was over-thinking it. She probably was. On the other hand, Ginny couldn't imagine Malfoy loaning something he cared about getting back, if at all. And until today, Ginny couldn't have imagined Malfoy being, if not nice, at least not mean.

And what, exactly, was the deal with that? Malfoy never missed an opportunity to goad a Weasley. True, he'd irritated her today, but even she had to admit that it had seemed as though he was attempting an actual conversation, albeit within the constraints of his naturally abrasive personality, rather than going straight for the top-shelf material on how poor, classless, and large her redheaded family was.

And then, he'd sent her a broomstick. On loan, yes, but even that was exceptionally generous for a Malfoy, especially him. She'd never seen him lend so much as a sheet of parchment, even to his closest friends, during his days at Hogwarts.

She regarded the broom again. She shouldn't accept it. She knew better. It meant something, even if she didn't know what exactly, and unknown somethings from Malfoy did not bode well, if experience taught her anything. She should give it back immediately, as soon as she arrived at the pitch in the morning.

Gwenog Jones, hair blown back as she flew through the air on her broomstick, looked down on Ginny from the poster on the wall. Ginny's grip on the broomstick in her hands tightened. She _should _give it back… but that would mean giving up on her dream as well, and for what? Because she was too stubborn, too wary, too _proud _to accept the loan of a broomstick from Draco Malfoy? It wasn't necessary that she trust him; it was only necessary that she accepted the gesture, and remain on guard against whatever conditions or consequences were attached. That, she could do easily enough, for hadn't she already spent six years at Hogwarts breathing the same air as the ferret?

Heaving a sigh, Ginny rolled over and propped the Nimbus carefully against the nightstand, turned off the light, and closed her eyes against the darkness, willing away the guilt she felt at her uncharitable thoughts about Malfoy.

xxxxx

She dreamed she was flying, still air, transformed to wind by her speed, whipping at her face. She imagined she could hear the whooshing of pockets of vacuum collapsing in her wake. Possibly, she was not imagining it at all, for the broom she rode was incredibly faster than anything she'd flown before.

The pitch was whirling chaos around her, a kaleidoscope of figures on brooms, of Quaffle and Bludgers, of goal hoops and Quidditch stands and clouds and sun and grass and earth and sky. Delight raced through her so quickly that she had no sense of which direction it came from or where it was going. Exhilaration seemed to permeate her entire being instantaneously, from her skin to her core, over and over again.

There was a fluttering in her fingers, a symbolic struggle for escape without real intent; the Snitch flapped cheekily before tucking its wings neatly away and nestling in her palm, and she laughed as though a private joke had been shared between the two of them. She had caught the Snitch, in near-record time and almost effortlessly, yet again.

She was not dreaming.

A whistle sounded and she returned to ground, surrendering to the grip of gravity. Gwenog Jones awaited her, grinning broadly, the other selected Seekers watching wide-eyed from behind the Quidditch pro… all but one. Draco Malfoy stood off to one side, slightly separate from the group, his typical smug smirk firmly in place.

_No, not quite typical, _Ginny realized with a start; there was a gleam there in his eyes that was hardly the usual glint of malicious happiness he'd get in their Hogwarts days when he was about to harass someone particularly cruelly. It wasn't exactly happiness and it didn't seem particularly mean-spirited either. There was a sort of satisfaction blended with excitement, she thought, though she had no idea what it might mean.

"Congratulations, Weasley," Gwenog Jones announced without further preamble. "You've made the cut. You're required to attend the remaining days of tryouts in case I need to use the Seekers to weed out some of the other applicants. After that, I'll see you at training camp."

Ginny felt that she was trembling as she beamed at her idol, who was now walking away with a satisfied, confident swagger that Ginny both envied and revered. Gwenog Jones had approved her for Quidditch training camp, from which she might get chosen by a team. Gwenog Jones, Captain of a team that only took girls, and was rumored to need a Seeker, and there were no other female Seekers at tryouts…

And it was all due to the broom. _His _broom. Her heart stopped cold as she gripped the handle of the broomstick. Now that the goal was achieved, now that she'd been guaranteed a place in the training camp… what would happen next? He was walking toward her already, the orange highlights of the late-afternoon sun making him look unpleasantly pallid. _Not his best lighting, _and Ginny chastised herself for even having such an irrelevant thought when he was most likely coming over to take his broom back, crushing her dreams, or worse, to set some kind of bizarre conditions relating to the loan that could be socially crippling or humiliating or possibly even dangerous.

What horrendous blackmail was she about to endure? Accepting the broom had been folly, for she could not give it up now, not when she was so close and needed it so badly! And he would take full advantage of that fact, surely, because he was a Malfoy and that's what Malfoys did, what he, himself had done to countless students on countless occasions while they were at school! Ginny groaned inwardly and silently berated herself for being _an idiot, idiot, total stupid IDIOT! _How could she have allowed this to happen? How could she-

"Did you enjoy the broom, Weasley?"

Smirk, average; tone, slightly pleased. _Just an opening gambit, _she decided; _proceed with caution._

"Quite. Thank you."

A blunder! Admitting gratitude was practically like saying she owed him! He hadn't missed it, either; there had been a flash in those flat, gray eyes that she didn't altogether trust. Yet to not thank him would have been rude.

"It hasn't been flown like that in some time. You put it through its paces rather thoroughly."

Still mostly neutrally-pleased, with perhaps a note of sentimentality. Was Malfoy even capable of being sentimental? Ginny proceeded with the assumption that the trap was not yet sprung.

"It handles quite well."

"It's how you handle it," he rejoined.

Innuendo? Perhaps, but the larger implication appeared to be sincere compliment. _Wishful thinking, _she warned herself. _Don't get taken in._

"It's quite generous of you to lend it to me," she remarked as casually as possible. Whatever the price was, it was best to get it out of the way.

"It isn't as if I won't be getting something out of it," he replied, his smirk stretching at the edges.

There it was. This was the part where he'd tell her exactly what terrible, possibly vile repayment was expected.

"I'll be able to practice with someone who's actually capable of challenging me," he added.

Ginny was floored. _That _was his hidden agenda? To tell her she was good enough to practice with him?

"You're losing your touch, Malfoy. Now tell me what you really want."

"Who says I want anything?" he asked, a sudden note of caution edging his voice.

Guarded, Ginny realized, which meant he'd been unguarded in the moments before.

"Am I really supposed to believe the biggest prat Hogwarts has ever seen is suddenly doing something nice out of kindness alone?"

"It isn't only kindness. I already told you, I want someone good to practice with. The other Seekers are close, but they're just not quite good enough."

"And you're not going to tell me to give your broom back at the moment I need it the most, or try to leverage me into doing something repulsive or otherwise objectionable?"

"Such as?"

"Well…" she replied hesitantly, "I don't know exactly. Like strip naked, or steal Neville's toad for you or something."

"You can't honestly think I'd want Longbottom's stupid toad, even if he did still have the thing. He doesn't, does he? It would have to be the oldest toad in the British Isles by now."

Ginny's jaw nearly dropped. He was… amused. Not angry or offended, not crafty and sly… just amused.

"Well I… I don't expect he does…" Ginny huffed. "Look, just tell me what you're playing at!"

"Nothing, honestly. I'm not even trying to get you naked, as you seem to believe," Malfoy raised his eyebrows, looking entirely _too _innocent. "Am I to understand that you don't think a person can change from the prat they were at fifteen?"

"No, I don't believe a person can change from the attempted-murderer they were at sixteen."

Something passed over his face at her words, just for an instant, something new… _hurt, _she realized. She'd hurt him by saying that. Except Draco Malfoy didn't get hurt emotionally, she knew from experience; he got angry, and he got even. This time, though, the anger she kept expecting was still conspicuously absent.

"Believe what you want, Weasley. Maybe that's all you've known. Potter must still be insufferable, or you'd still be together. Your brother is obviously still a stubborn, mulish idiot, or you'd have his broom right now and not mine. But that isn't my problem, it's yours."

"What am I supposed to believe?" she asked snappishly. "You hated me in school. You hate my entire family. I'm nothing but a Weasley to you, and we both know what that means."

"Maybe that doesn't mean the same thing anymore," Malfoy said with a shrug.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means… I can't afford to be so choosy any longer. You're a great flyer and you've actually bothered to talk to me, even if rather rudely. Perhaps being a girl Weasley shouldn't count."

"What?" Ginny asked in confusion, but he was already walking off across the pitch, flashing a grin over his shoulder at her as he went.

_How typical, _she grumbled to herself. It was so like Malfoy to say something and walk away without giving the other person a chance to respond. But the things he used to say were unkind, harsh remarks about her family and their poverty, their numbers, their hair. Today's exchange, while irritating for a reason Ginny couldn't quite pin down, had been strangely enjoyable.

Ginny found herself wondering if it might have been more enjoyable had she not spent so much of it trying to figure out how exactly he was trying to be mean.

xxxxx

It was idiotic, being that way to a Weasley. Stupid of him. It wasn't something that could be explained, least of all to any of that lot. It wasn't that they weren't intelligent enough. Certainly Ron wasn't, but the rest of them were rather bright, the Weasley girl included.

It was that they were willful, and stubborn, and usually applied that willful stubbornness to actively not listening to other people. In that respect, the girl was just as bad as her nearest brother. She always had been; he knew this, and yet, the attempt had been made.

Draco Malfoy had gone to Quidditch tryouts expecting to be met with loathing. He'd known that he would be accepted on the basis of skill alone, that he would have to be better than his best just to be accepted at all, the same way he'd known that any attempt to try out in previous years would have been met with failure.

It wasn't that he wasn't good enough. It was that he was hated.

Rather, the Malfoy family, the Malfoy name was hated, and was met with contempt and dismissal at all places but those that cared solely about money.

The truth was that such an existence was a lonely one, not that he'd ever let those words leave his mouth.

Quidditch was a chance for him not to restore the family name, for there was no going back on that one, but to make something for himself, to become known for something other than what his family had done in the war… what he had done.

It was, quite possibly, his _last _chance.

He'd been prepared to give them every reason he could not to throw him to the curb like so much rubbish, to fight for an equal chance, and, very likely, to be turned away anyway. He'd been prepared to be ignored, or to bear the brunt of hateful comments.

He hadn't been prepared to see someone familiar.

Granted, the wizarding community was small and most of them liked Quidditch, so he'd expected to see people that he knew of, or knew slightly. But he hadn't really thought about what would happen if he saw someone he'd crossed paths with during the war in such a way, someone who was either on his side or on the other.

Ginny Weasley was adamantly on the other.

When he'd seen that flash of red hair, after assuring himself that it wasn't the reprehensible Ronald Weasley, he'd felt almost a sense of longing, of… nostalgia. For there had been a time, once, when his life was no more complicated than deciding which Weasley he'd pick on after dinner.

There had always been that red hair, in the hallways of Hogwarts, topping off the defiant little short-stack that was the Weasley girl as though it was a flag, a standard warning him to be on the lookout for a kick somewhere delicate when next he mocked a Weasley in a moment's time, because she didn't just turn red like her brother. The girl was violent.

The hair had streamed out behind her when she played Quidditch too, a beacon in the cold, gray air above the pitch. During games, or when he spied on the Gryffindor practices, it would trail behind her, and he would watch, and even then he had marveled at the inner fire that rose to the surface when she flew.

Red hair against cold, white snow, or hard, frozen earth, face blank and gaze inscrutable, as she had watched the Slytherin practices, spying on him as he'd done on her. Her eyes never lingered on him, though he was always conscious of being observed; it was unnerving, her indifference to him.

Some part of him had always wondered if she secretly thought he was good, as he thought of her.

He knew he was good, but he wondered.

Then, suddenly, years later and miles away, she was there on another pitch, her hair on fire in the warm sunshine of late spring. He should have ignored her, but, no; he had stupidly approached her, and he had been nice, and for what? She didn't like him, didn't trust him, didn't even want to talk to him. He was laying himself out for punishment, he knew.

It was absurd.

It was pointless.

It was an attempt doomed to failure.

But… if she could stop hating him… if she could be convinced he wasn't worthless…

… Maybe it would be true.

Sending her the broom had been impulsive. He knew Ron was a jerk, and, more importantly, prone to jealousy, and wouldn't have lent her the Cleansweep 11. He wasn't surprised that she had thought he wanted something out of it. She wasn't wrong, in a way; it just wasn't quite what she thought. When he'd seen her on the tryout pitch, clutching Fred Weasley's ancient Cleansweep 5, he'd seen something in her that he'd never seen in all their years at Hogwarts. She'd seemed timid, hesitant, as though she didn't quite believe she could do it. That was new. This was not a girl whom trepidation suited well.

He'd intended to prod at her initially, to try to get a rise, but she'd looked like a sharp wind might send her running, so he'd held back. When she was in the air, she looked like she still didn't believe she belonged there, though only someone who knew how she'd flown in school could have spotted her lack of confidence.

She needed a challenge, and a broom that matched her skill. He'd have _bought_ her a broom if she wouldn't have utterly blown up about it. The Weasleys were an overly sensitive lot when it came to money. So he'd done the next-best thing: he'd wrapped up his beloved Nimbus 2001 and sent it off by owl, wondering the entire time whether he'd lost his mind completely, because that broom meant more to him than just about anything.

As it turned out, he hadn't gone mad after all; when she'd taken to the air on his broom, she had seemed to somehow come alive, pinched-tight lines of worry on her face relaxing as she weaved and spiraled through the air and between the other players, the Snitch easily snared in her fingers. Granted, it was only a tryout and not a proper practice, and while Snitch manufacturers denied it, Snitches always seemed a great deal more zealous when they were in a proper match. Malfoy believed it, and any other Seeker would agree with him. Nonetheless, she and the Nimbus performed beautifully together, and he saw her for the girl she had been years ago.

If there was hope for her, there might be hope for him.

Looking back as he walked away, his words left hanging in the air, he saw her standing there, holding his broom and looking dumbfounded. Not angry, not bored, not indifferent.

He flashed her a grin as he left the pitch, hoping she couldn't see how nervous he was.

She couldn't, he was sure.

No one ever could.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to dyk3adellic, darinmeg, and Kay8abc for reviewing Chapter 2! If you're reading this story and like what you see, please review, and stick around for chapter 4! =D**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 4; please be kind and please enjoy! =)

* * *

**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 4: Painful Transitions_  
**

Ginny shut the lid of her old Hogwarts trunk with satisfied smile. She'd cleared it of textbooks and old potions ingredients, arranging the former carefully on her bookshelves and tossing the latter out with the trash, and had then repacked it with the clothes and necessities she'd want over the summer.

Being away from the Burrow for a while would be a good thing, she decided. She should have moved out on her own already, but she had clung to home in the wake of Fred's death, wanting to stay with the family she had left just a little longer. She wasn't the only one, either; even though George still had the flat he'd shared with Fred above their joke shop, he was at the Burrow more often than not when he wasn't working, and both Charlie and Bill had taken to spending more vacation time there as well. Even Percy had moved back in for a time after the war ended, leaving after about a year but with his family ties strengthened once more, and Ron still lived at home as she did. Still, she knew she couldn't live at home forever, and living in the training dorm would give her a taste of independence without having to make a rough transition into the real world.

A last look around her bedroom suddenly made her feel rather lonely for home, and she hadn't even left yet.

_This isn't the end of anything, _she reminded herself, pushing her homesickness aside. _It's a beginning, the beginning of an adventure._

Ginny smiled faintly, for the words were not her own. Her mother had spoken those words to her when she'd looked around her room on another occasion, filled with the same longing as her Hogwarts trunk had been packed for the very first time. Her smile faltered. It _had _been the beginning of an adventure, but the end of something as well; that first year at Hogwarts had marked the end of her childhood, the end of the belief that she could be kept safe from Voldemort.

Then again, perhaps it had been for the best that she had lost that belief. None of them had ever been safe, and death had taken one of their own. Fred and George had always known, having been small when Voldemort was first in power; though they were too young to have solid memories of that time, an impression had been made nonetheless. She wondered if this was why they had always lived for the moment, never letting anything hold them back.

Her other brothers were like this, too, those old enough to remember. Bill had been dauntless in his pursuit of a career as a curse-breaker, a profession that demanded dedication. Charlie's chosen path was to chase dragons, a dream he, too, had achieved. Even Percy had taken command of his destiny from a young age, vowing to work at the Ministry no matter what it took, and he'd actually done it, in one of the harshest political climates imaginable for a Weasley. Ginny still thought him a right git for putting so much distance between himself and the family, but in a way she also understood. Was it any fault of Percy's that their family's status threatened to end his dreams when they'd only just gotten off the ground?

Her thoughts returned to Fred, another Weasley who had achieved his dream, even with such a tragically short life as he'd had. Ginny reached for a framed photograph that sat on one of her shelves, taking it in her hands. Within the frame, she and the twins jostled about madly, trying to make the photo as silly as possible. She was now older than he had been when he'd died, she realized with a shock, letting her fingertips trail over the image.

"He'd be proud of you, you know," George spoke from the doorway. "I'm proud of you."

She looked up, surprised at his appearance as she hadn't heard him come in. Her brother stepped forward and took the picture frame in his hands, observing as his younger self and his missing half bumped a teenaged Ginny back and forth between them, her face gleefully open-mouthed in silence as her squeals and giggles echoed in his memory. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly and he handed the photo back.

"I'm so sorry about the broom, George, I really am," Ginny apologized, still worried that her remaining twin brother was hurting over the fact that Fred's old broom wouldn't cut the mustard at training camp.

"Still on about that, Gin?" George looked at her with raised eyebrows; he seemed genuinely surprised.

"Well, I know it was a big deal for you to give me Fred's broom in the first place," she replied.

"Don't even think of it. I put it out in the broom shed days ago," he said with a small smile that almost hid a sudden mawkishness that overcame him… almost. As a diversion, he picked up the Nimbus 2001 from where it rested against the bed. "So, Draco Malfoy, eh? What's the story there?"

Ginny found herself flushing as George waggled his eyebrows; however untrue, the insinuation was embarrassing. She gave her brother an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

"Please, George, it's nothing like that. Come to think of it, it's nothing to speak of at all," she stated plainly. "It's only that he was determined I should try out for the position of Seeker, and insisted I use his broom to do it."

"He was the one who recommended you to Gwenog Jones?" he asked, eyes widening. "That's a surprise. Since when does Malfoy do a Weasley a favor?"

"I was suspicious too… I still am, but when I asked he seemed straightforward enough. He said he needed someone with my skills in order to train properly. Apparently he doesn't think any of the other Seekers in the program are good enough," she shrugged.

"Hrm. Well, he would know. I mean, as Seekers go, he's good, even if he was a bastard at school," George supplied, mirroring his sister's shrug. "So long as you've got your guard up, I'll not need to lecture you to be careful around him. I'm not saying the proverbial other shoe is going to drop, but…"

"Best to have _Wingardium Leviosa _ready just in case?" Ginny laughed, smiling at her brother's attempt to curb the overprotective streak every one of her family members seemed to share.

"Something like that," he replied, relaxing with a smile as he saw the seriousness that lay beneath her flippancy. "A bat-bogey hex might not be amiss either."

"You know I can take care of myself, George."

"Yes, I know. And you should know that I meant what I said earlier, that Fred and I are proud of you. I was worried you'd never follow your heart out into the world, and a Weasley that isn't following their heart isn't going to be happy for long."

Ginny let George fold her into his long arms, feeling a warm breath stir her hair as he left a kiss on top of her head. Her heart ached for her brother, who was considerably more prone to open sentimentality these days than he had once been.

"What about you, George?" she whispered. "What about your heart?"

"Haven't got one left to follow, Gin. You know that," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as he thought of his lost twin. "Merlin, it's going to be lonely without you here."

"I wish I could stay, but I just can't, not any longer," she replied, squeezing her brother a little tighter.

"And I wouldn't wish you to, not when you've got such an adventure ahead of you," he replied, fixing a grin on his face as he pushed back from her.

_An adventure, _she thought, smiling wanly. She wondered if her mother had used that speech about new beginnings on all of her brothers as well. Then again, she couldn't imagine Fred and George hesitating to leave for school when they had been young. They had never hesitated to do anything.

"Would you mind floating my trunk downstairs?" she asked, popping the lid and adding the photo to her things. "I've got an appointment time to Floo to the dormitory and if I'm late I might get tangled up in someone else's arrival."

"Sure, Gin," George replied warmly, and within moments her trunk was levitating down the stairs.

She checked a clock as they passed it, not the family clock that indicated each family member's location and whose hands bore their images, the frame that Fred's had once occupied now empty, but a regular clock that indicated the time. She heaved a sigh, for it was now apparent that she was going to be a few minutes late, especially considering that her mother was waiting at the fireplace to see her off. There was nothing for it; she would simply have to Floo late, and hopefully, she'd miss colliding with another arrival.

This was no way at all to set out on a new beginning.

xxxxx

"Draco, wouldn't you be more comfortable in one of your Oxford shirts? It's quite hot today," Narcissa asked placidly, looking her son up and down for any hint of forgotten propriety. A black turtleneck in late May was not something Narcissa found permissible, though his black slacks received no comment.

"There will be cooling charms on the dormitory, Mother," he replied, equally calmly. "You know I hate to travel by Floo, and I won't wear something that's going to show soot. Besides, if I wear an Oxford shirt, I'll feel as if I'm going back to school."

"Hm. Suit yourself," she murmured disapprovingly, casting his sweater another icy glance. "You have at least packed some proper attire, haven't you?"

"Yes, Mother."

He only barely repressed a sigh as he answered her. The woman who had given him life could oftentimes be more stifling than wearing a knitted turtleneck in the warmth of early summer. No matter how pleasant the circumstances, no matter how light the fabric, the sweater would always be too warm for this weather and his mother would always find some point of criticism to seize upon. At least the sweater would keep him from getting soot down his neck; there was nothing that could keep his mother from being similarly irritating.

A house elf arrived to Apparate his trunk; while decorum demanded that he arrive by Floo the same as the other hopefuls, at the very least he wouldn't have to manage a trunk through with him. He would carry the broom, though, for as bumpy as Floo travel was, he didn't feel comfortable parting with it, and brooms were charmed so that they wouldn't break under circumstances of ordinary handling anyway.

No sooner had the elf gone with his trunk than his father swept into the parlor, having emerged from the sanctum of his private office to see his son off. Draco forced a smile as he accepted his father's outstretched hand and shook it by way of greeting. Ordinarily, a nod would suffice, but clearly Lucius felt this was a special occasion and was pulling out all the stops.

He walked beside his parents into the entry hall, turning away from the huge front doors toward the equally impressive fireplace at the far end. His parents added their versions of well wishes and advice as they stood on the marble hearth and said their goodbyes.

"If you find the comforts of the dormitory wanting, Draco, simply summon one of the house elves and it will see to your needs," Narcissa gushed, dabbing at her eye with a delicately embroidered handkerchief, though Malfoy doubted there were any actual tears to catch. His mother was far too well-bred for such an emotional display.

"I trust you'll do nothing to bring shame to the Malfoy name," Lucius added, notes of both pride and warning in his voice.

_As if there's anything left of it, _Malfoy thought privately. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to grin as he accepted another handshake from his father, this time one of parting.

"Of course not, Father. The family name will be no worse for the wear by the end of summer," he replied, feeling the sarcasm that he refrained from injecting into his speech.

"Will you be coming home for your birthday? It's only a week from now," Narcissa asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not, Mother," Malfoy replied, successfully feigning regret, though secretly he was glad he would be gone. "It would be far too early to ask for liberties not afforded to the other players."

"Why shouldn't you be afforded liberties the others aren't? You're a _Malfoy,_" Lucius snapped rather crossly.

"Father, if I'm to be taken seriously in the world of Quidditch, I have to avoid the appearance of favoritism. That means no taking leave for birthday parties," he softened his words with a gentle glance toward his mother, "and no luxuries delivered by house elves."

"Of course, dear," his mother nodded, her regal bearing indicating that she was meant to be seen as having a stiff upper lip. Perhaps she really was saddened by Malfoy's refusal to be home for his birthday, though he doubted it. He found it more likely that she found the inability to parade him at yet another social function designed to paint the Malfoys in the best light possible an annoying inconvenience.

His perfunctory handshake with Lucius over with, Malfoy hugged his mother goodbye, embracing her only slightly with little emotion demonstrated as was polite, as he'd been taught from childhood. Taking up his broom, he scooped a handful of Floo powder from an urn situated on an end table next to the massive fireplace and stepped inside. Willing his face to be impassive, for only seconds remained until he was free of his family for the summer, he cast the powder to his feet, announced his destination, and made his escape.

xxxxx

The trip through the Floo system began as an uneventful affair, typically bumpy and fraught with jostling, filth, and the expected pain of striking one's elbow unpleasantly along the way. After the first several seconds, however, things went horribly awry; there were quite suddenly twice as many limbs as there ought to be, all of them flailing and tangling, eliciting grunts of surprise, anger, and more than a little pain from their owners. The green flames spat out the tangled mess at last, landing two people quite unceremoniously on the hearth of the dormitory's main Floo fireplace, brooms still clutched in their hands.

"What in the bloody _fuck_!" the larger of the two forms spat as he lurched to his hands and knees, not yet fully aware of the thoroughly disoriented figure pinned beneath him.

"Ow," groaned a voice from below him. "I'd hoped that wouldn't happen."

His attention drawn downward by the voice, he finally noticed its owner. The red hair, the Gryffindor-colored Quidditch sweater, the chocolate brown eyes now locking onto his gray ones…

"Bloody hell, Weasley! Are you _trying _to get killed? If you want to make the attempt, leave me bloody well out of it!" he shouted, extremely irritated at his own pain and embarrassment, which now appeared to be her fault.

"Come off it, Malfoy!" she snapped, trying to get her breath back after having landed roughly and been landed roughly upon, by a man who was still upon _her, _as it happened. Of course, it just _had _to be Malfoy. "And get off of _me, _while you're at it! People almost never die by Floo travel!"

"Did it cross your mind that scheduled Flooing into high-traffic destinations _might _be partly responsible for the safety of Floo travel?" he yelled, his pale face growing slightly pink as he continued his tirade, not bothering to remove himself from her person. "Because I happen to know that _I _Flooed precisely at the appointed time! Did _you, _by any chance happen to _miss _your own appointment?"

Ginny felt her face flush the lobsterish red for which her family was known. Of course, it _was _her fault, because she _had _been late, and she knew for a fact that it was indeed _horribly _unsafe to Floo in such a fashion. The fact that he was right only made it worse!

"Can you get off of me now, Malfoy? Unless you don't think enough of the dorm has witnessed you pinning me to the floor!" she bellowed, letting her infamous Weasley temper get the better of her.

Malfoy's eyes widened as he finally recognized the awkward implications of their present position, and he flushed a little bit pinker, which Ginny now realized with envy was his version of the heated crimson blush that now reigned over her features. He pushed away from her, rising to his knees as the fireplace flared green behind him. Ginny's eyes widened with horror and he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the green flames disgorging a trunk that slammed heavily into his back, knocking him back onto Ginny in far more pain than he'd incurred from the original Flooing.

"Shit!" she cried out from underneath him as several of the other dorm inhabitants rushed forward to help. Her trunk was lifted off, and she helped roll Malfoy from atop her onto his back.

"Weasley… you've bloody killed me," he groaned, scrunching his eyes closed against the soreness that seemed to permeate all of him. "Hurry up and make sure I'm not actually dying, will you?"

Ginny gaped at him, her mouth hanging open as she had planned to fire off a nasty retort; thinking better of it, she snapped it shut and fished her wand out of her pocket.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to Kay8abc, veronica21, angelale8, shana rose, Twilightgrl101, and Nintendo-Geek for their awesome reviews since the last update!**

**To everyone who's reading this, thank you for reading! If you liked this chapter, review, and be sure to come back for the next one! =D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 5! This chapter was plugging right along... until my writing program crashed and devoured half of it! I think it's been sufficiently rewritten... at least, I hope so! As always, please be kind and please enjoy! =)

* * *

**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 5: Awkward Admissions_  
**

"There, see? You're not _actually dying,_" Ginny grumbled as her wand spat out a long, thin strip of paper, the product of a diagnostic spell Hermione had taught her in case of injury. She scowled as he snatched it from her hands, reading it silently as she repeated its contents. "No broken bones, no internal hemorrhage. Only bruising, swelling, and light muscle strain. You're fine, so stop being an infant and get up off the floor."

"I am not fine and I am not getting up," he snapped. "A strained back can be a career-ending injury for a Quidditch player, Weasel! How can you not know that?"

"Very well, lie there on your back like a turtle until the sports healer arrives if that's how you want it! I'm sure no one will mind stepping over you as they Floo in!"

"It's _your _fault I'm lying here 'like a turtle' as you so descriptively put it! If you'd practiced any measure of responsibility when you'd Flooed , or _sanity, _for that matter…" he stared at her penetratingly. "I'll bet that's even your trunk, isn't it!"

Ginny winced as Malfoy correctly read her guilt. "George was going to push it through the Floo after me, but I forgot because of how we landed, and-"

"Fucking hell," he groaned unhappily. "You'll be the death of me, sooner or later. That's if I manage to survive _this_…"

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, feeling her guilt as though it was clinging to her skin, oozing from every pore. She _hated _that she couldn't just walk away. It was only _Malfoy _after all, and yet… she heaved a sigh. She was responsible. It couldn't be helped.

"Well, I can't just lie here, you're right about that. But I'm in too much pain to get up, and if the swelling isn't taken care of the damage could get worse. There had better be at least a pain potion in that trunk."

"Can't you just get one from yours?" she asked.

"Do you _see _another trunk, Weasley?" he snapped. "Mine will have been taken to my room, and I have no idea where that is, so hurry up and tell me what you have!"

Ginny bit her lip as she lifted the lid and began rummaging through her own belongings. How could she not know what she had? She'd only packed it this morning! But she had simply scooped her toiletries from her drawer en masse, without particularly paying attention to what-all was there, and she had no idea what potions, if any, she might have brought along. At last, her eyes lit upon a little pink bottle nestled next to her toothpaste, and she scooped it up and handed it to Malfoy.

"'Mrs. Monthly's Menstrual Maladies Mollifier'," he read from the bottle after taking it from her hand, his voice laced with sarcasm and disgust. "Brilliant, Weasley, because I've had _such _a problem with menstrual cramps lately…"

She glowered at him as he turned the bottle over and read the back, his eyebrow arched aristocratically. To her surprise, he suddenly pulled the cork from the bottle and downed the contents.

"Feeling crampy after all, Malfoy?" she muttered snidely.

"It's essentially just a pain potion with an anti-inflammatory in it, turned pink to market it more effectively to women," he replied, an odd smile coming to his face. "That, and they've added chocolate flavoring and a mood-elevator, which I daresay is working already. I suddenly feel rather splendid, all things considered."

"Malfoy! It's meant to offset legitimate emotional distress, not to get you loaded while you wait for the healer to come!" she cried out, offended at his misuse of the potion.

"Perhaps _you _should consider taking this stuff more often than just once a month, Weasley," he fired back, biting off a laugh that was growing harder to stifle as the potion took effect. "You might find that you're not so easily put out by such trifling matters. Just be pleased your silly idea is working."

"You could tell all that from reading the back? What the potion did, I mean, and that it was safe to take?" she changed the subject, her nose wrinkling. She hadn't been horrible at potions in school, but she hadn't been great either, and she certainly couldn't tell everything a potion did just from reading the ingredients. She only knew that it worked for the one thing it was meant to fix.

"It's all right there, if you know what you're looking at," he replied. "I don't suppose Potter or your brother ever mentioned that I was top of the class in Potions in our year."

"I thought Hermione was top of the class in just about everything," she replied.

"Not in Potions. I bested her on nearly every score all the way through the O.W.L.s," he elaborated. "I could brew a Draught of Living Death in my sleep by fifth year."

"All Harry and Ron ever told me is that in your sixth year you were a disaster, getting covered in something that looked like cat vomit and such. They'd mime it for entertainment, one of them pretending to be you, the other a cat…" Ginny found herself struggling not to cringe as she remembered Harry and Ron's less than charitable impressions. "They said you'd only done well before because you were Snape's favorite."

"I wouldn't have remained Snape's favorite for long if I wasn't good at it," Malfoy pointed out, correctly, Ginny supposed; Snape didn't easily suffer fools. "I admit, things fell off a bit in sixth year. I had other things to think about, and I'll grant you I didn't exactly blossom under Slughorn's tutelage. I rather suspect he didn't like me."

"You suspect he didn't like you?" Ginny smirked, making a joke of it to cover her discomfort. "And about how many other people have you had that particular suspicion?"

"Just about all of them," he replied, his voice taking on a dreamy lilt that reminded Ginny uncomfortably of Luna Lovegood when she spoke too honestly of unpleasant truths. "I think you can help me to my room, Weasley. The pain's mostly gone now."

"D'you think that's wise?" she asked skeptically. "You were the one who said you shouldn't be moved."

"Someone could come through the Floo and land on me at any moment," he stated. "Besides, I've been waiting for an hour at least! How long am I to remain on the floor waiting for some dodgy, un-punctual sports healer to show up? I can at least wait in my room, wherever that is."

"You have _not _been waiting for an hour; it's only been fifteen minutes," Ginny sighed.

Then again, if they went to his room, they could at least avoid further awkward conversation with the audience they now had… and in point of fact, Ginny wasn't even convinced Malfoy was that hurt. If she took him to his room, she could leave him there, and be rid of him with a clear conscience.

Scooping their brooms under her arm, she helped Malfoy to his feet, steadying him with his arm around her shoulders as he winced in discomfort. She asked for his room number and followed a sign on the wall, bearing his weight as he leaned into her, she felt, a bit more than was strictly necessary. Fortunately his room proved easy enough to find; it was, in fact, just down the hall and across from hers. Apparently the Seekers were to be housed in the same section.

She was wondering how to go about opening the door, which didn't seem to have a standard lock and to which neither of them had been given a password, when Malfoy leaned forward, pressing on the door with his open palm. The door gave a small pop as some magical mechanism released, and swung open, revealing a rather cozy room that was positively slathered in silver and Slytherin green. Malfoy gave her a victorious smirk as they made their way inside, the door closing behind them, and she eased him onto the bed.

"No, no, too soft," he grunted, cringing slightly. "Back to the floor, please, Weasley."

"Since when do Malfoys say please?" she asked as she helped him up again and arranged him on the floor of the little room, flat on his back with his knees in the air.

"Since it gets results that involve not being in pain," he replied, sighing with relief. "When is that bloody healer going to arrive, anyway?"

"Did I hear someone calling for me?" a voice called from the doorway. Ginny and Malfoy both looked up to find the room newly occupied by a wizened little old man wearing a loudly-printed Hawaiian shirt and a pair of Bermuda shorts.

"Who the hell are you?" Malfoy asked rudely, his voice an appalled squeak as he took in the man's attire.

"I'm the bloody healer!" the elderly wizard replied with a cackle. Apparently, he was quite amused with the entire scenario. "You've had a Floo accident, then? Miserable way to travel. I've just flown in on a hippogriff, myself."

"Bloody hate hippogriffs, too," Malfoy replied, his tone inappropriately cheery, a result of the potion he'd taken earlier.

The healer approached and looked him over. "It's your back, is it? Usually it's arms and legs that get injured while Flooing, and the occasional knock to the noggin. How did this come about?"

"We were caught in the Floo together, and then… I'm afraid my trunk landed on him," Ginny replied, her face flushing in embarrassment as she admitted the accident had been born of her own carelessness.

"Ah, to be young," the old man replied somewhat cryptically as he ran his wand over Malfoy, causing it to produce a longer and much more detailed strip of information than Ginny's had done.

"What?" Ginny asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"He's implying that we were attempting to be intimate in the Floo," Malfoy giggled wildly as the healer rolled him over and began to prod at his back with a wand. "For the record, we were doing no such thing… oh Merlin, that tickles!"

"That's not the way the folks in the lounge tell it. They're out there right now arguing over what color brassiere they saw the young lady wearing."

"Watch it, you lecherous old pervert!" Malfoy gave a laugh combined with a muttered 'ouch' as the wand zapped at a particularly knotted muscle.

"They couldn't possibly have seen my bra! I've had my Quidditch sweater on the entire time."

"Why else do you suppose they're arguing about it? If they'd really seen it, they'd know, wouldn't they!" the healer replied humorously as he eyed Malfoy's back with particular scrutiny. "Has he taken something? The injury isn't as swollen and painful as I'd expect it to be, and he's remarkably even-tempered for the treatment I'm giving him."

"Oh, yes… this," Ginny pulled the little potion bottle from her pocket, where she'd tucked it away just in case the healer had need of it.

"Mrs. Monthly's, eh?" he said with a hearty guffaw. "Did you think of this? Clever of you, if you ask me. He'd be a great deal worse off without it."

"Thank you," she murmured. "Really, though, he's the one who decided to take it. I don't even know what most of the stuff in it does."

"Still, quite clever. Most wizards would overlook it if they were looking for a pain potion," the old man said, smiling kindly. "Well, he's been set right. He shouldn't move around much until tomorrow, and he'll need to alternate hot and cold on it through the night, but he should be completely right by morning. The magic needs time to work, you see. A hot bath wouldn't be amiss either. Good thing he's got a friend here to help him!"

Before Ginny could protest, the healer made a hasty exit, leaving a tub of cream behind for bruising and charming the door as he left so it would permit her entry at any time, at least temporarily. She was left with a Malfoy who was sore and cranky, though still under the influence of her potion.

"Help me up, Weaslette," he demanded as soon as they were alone, sounding suddenly tired. The potion-induced giddiness seemed to be wearing on his nerves.

"The healer said you weren't to move!" she protested.

"I don't think he meant that I should spend the rest of the afternoon on the floor, nor that I shouldn't sleep in the bed, and if you think I'm doing any of that in clothes that are filthy from the Floo, you have another thing coming."

Ginny pursed her lips in frustration. Malfoy did have a point, but why did it have to fall to _her _to take care of him? _Because I was the one who hurt him in the first place, _a guilty voice from inside herself chimed in. It was all too correct; she had brought this upon him, however inadvertently, and she was responsible for making sure he healed properly.

"Oh, very well. If I have to help you, I'll help you," she replied. She hesitated, an idea coming to her. "But I want this to count as repayment for the favor of lending me your broom."

"I hadn't planned on asking for repayment," he said, fixing her with an inscrutable stare, "but if calling us even makes you feel better, you're welcome to it. Of course, helping me tonight really only makes us even for your trunk _almost killing me._"

_Damn!_ He had a point. She could hardly call the broom even when there was the matter of the trunk to be considered. And while he might _say _the broom didn't require repayment, she didn't believe him for a moment. She slipped her arm under his and helped him to pull himself up and sit on the edge of the bed, where he struggled for a moment with working his shirt over his head.

"Do you mind, Weasley?" he asked, and she turned away, suddenly flustered that she'd invaded his privacy by staring.

"Not that," he spoke again, sounding amused. "I don't care if you look. I just can't seem to pull my shirt over my head without hurting my back further."

"Oh… I see," she murmured, turning back to face him and wishing she didn't have that terribly Weasley blush on her face.

Ginny moved her hands to the bottom of his shirt and began pulling it up, feeling his stomach muscles tense as she inadvertently brushed against him with her fingertips. As the shirt rode up, it revealed an expanse of pallid skin over lightly defined musculature, as well as a faint trail of palest-blond hair on his lower belly that disappeared under the waist of his trousers.

_No, not looking! _she thought hastily… but it was so hard to look away!

As she worked the turtleneck over his shoulders he leaned forward to accommodate the shirt's passage over his head, and she realized that he'd filled out through the shoulders slightly since his school days but was overall still quite slender. Then she got a look at his back and felt a renewed sense of guilt wash over her, for a broad expanse of his flesh was stained purplish with heavy bruising that had already begun to set in.

Stripping the sweater from his arms, he straightened again and she was forced to look away once more, for there in her field of vision, quite indecently, was Malfoy's chest, complete with nipples nearly as pale as he was but slightly pinker. She spluttered and tried to cover the sound with a cough.

_This is not something I want to see! _she thought, horrified. Or at least, she _should _have been horrified, but the horror did not come. Instead, there was only that damned Weasley blush, which was back on her face in full force. _I must not let on that I've noticed… anything at all!_

"Why were you wearing such a heavy shirt when it's so warm?" she asked, choosing a neutral subject and trying to look nonchalant as she turned back to him, her head swimming with panicked thoughts. Her eyes just about bulged from their sockets at what she found.

Malfoy had unzipped his trousers, and was busying himself with pushing them to his knees.

"I didn't want to get soot down my collar. It's just one of the many reasons I despise traveling by Floo."

"What in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" she cried shrilly.

"What's it look like, Weasley? I'm taking off my pants," he replied, his smirk particularly large. "Don't tell me you've never seen a man in his underwear before."

"I have! I've seen _several _men in their underwear!" she shouted hotly, realizing only after the words left her mouth how they made her sound. "I mean, that is to say, most of them were my brothers, and then of course there was Harry…"

"Ugh, don't make me ill," Malfoy interjected with a laugh as a disgusted look crossed his face.

"But… but _why _are you taking off your pants?" she cried again.

"I should think it would be obvious. They're filthy."

"But you haven't got anything else to put on!"

"I was going to lie down. I'm in my room. It's warm today. Therefore stripping to my under-things is perfectly acceptable," he stated, speaking very calmly and clearly as though explaining something obvious to a small child who didn't yet understand.

"There are some things I _don't _want to see, Malfoy!" she snapped.

Malfoy heaved a long suffering sigh as he kicked aside his shoes and socks, letting his pants drop to the floor.

"Fine. There are some pajama bottoms in my trunk. Would you be so kind?"

Ginny flung the lid of the trunk open, nearly diving in headlong as she rummaged wildly through his things like a woman possessed. Finally she surfaced, turning back to him with the pajama pants triumphantly in hand. She held them out for him to take and turned away once more to wait while he dressed.

She was met with the sound of him clearing his throat awkwardly behind her.

"What is it now?" she replied, rounding on him to find that he still wasn't wearing anything but his boxers.

"I can't lean over far enough to put these on," he replied, having the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"Uh… right…" she mumbled nervously.

She knelt on the floor beside him and held out the pajama bottoms so he could slip his feet into them She pointedly did _not_ look in the direction of his boxers and the area they covered, _thankfully,_ though she did steal a glance at his face as she drew the pants up to his knees and within his reach. His face was perfectly impassive, with the exception of the slightest trace of pink at his cheeks, and the odd look in his eyes. He didn't seem particularly lustful; certainly his gaze didn't make her feel as though he was thinking something horribly inappropriate and for that she was thankful, given her present position.

If she really had to pin it down, she'd have described his look as one of curiosity.

"On second thought, Weasley, forget the pants," he said suddenly, almost startling her as he broke the silence that had settled over them.

"Wh-what?" she stammered, aware that he was smirking once more.

"I think I'd prefer to take that bath."

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**A/N: Thanks to shana rose, ****angelale8,**** Princess Phoenix Tears, Nugmeg44, Twilightgrl101, and ****Kay8abc**** for their awesome reviews since the last update!**

**If you like this chapter, please review (especially since having to rewrite half of it drove me totally nuts!) and be sure to come back for the next one! =D  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: I've added titles to the chapters, which probably doesn't matter, but it's terribly exciting for me! Here's Chapter 6! As always, please be kind and please enjoy! =)

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**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 6: A Near-Death Experience_  
**

Billowing steam filled the small bathroom, obscuring the mirror and softening the glare of the overhead light. Malfoy relaxed into the tub, letting the hot water soothe the aching muscles in his back. The Weasley girl had drawn the bath at his request, even rummaging through his trunk for some green tea scented bath salts his mother had suggested he pack. There should have been no rummaging required, for his trunk had been in perfect order, but Weasley didn't seem capable of waiting for instruction, instead preferring to turn over everything he had in a flurry of rapid movements that was over before he'd had a chance to tell her where to look.

He knew she was surprised when he'd asked for the bath so suddenly. He'd intended to rest first, and he'd certainly intended to make an event out of the bath later, fraught with innuendo and suggestion sandwiched between reminders of her obligation to help him, with the goal of seeing her turn that brilliant crimson shade he knew she had to hate. This was a fact of which she was no doubt aware; he was certain that she'd been dreading the bath as much as he'd been looking forward to it ever since the healer had brought it up.

Then, something rather odd had happened. When she'd helped him into his pajamas he'd been struck by the sudden thought that perhaps he didn't _want _to turn the bath into a joke, that this… whatever this was… could go in some entirely other direction that had been, until now, wholly unanticipated. It was the same kind of urge as the impulse that had led him to send her his old broom, a kind of unguided instinct that compelled him even as it made him feel like he was flying blind.

It bothered him. When she was there, he felt so acutely aware of her presence, much like the first day he'd seen her at tryouts. He couldn't have missed that hair of hers if he had tried, and he certainly hadn't tried to miss it. It was the sort of thing that anyone would overlook, and everyone else actually had, so why had he noticed? What made him different? Or was it a question of what made _her _different to _him_?

Like when she'd helped him take off his shirt: the slightest graze of her fingertips across his belly had left him feeling like a gutted fish, only pleasantly so, and what was pleasant about that? And that smallest of gasps that had fallen from her lips when she caught sight of his back, which must look rather horrible - he hadn't looked at it yet - he didn't think even _she _was aware she'd done it, so why was he?

Perhaps feeling so confused was a result of that damned potion she'd given him… if only he could make himself believe that! The situation required, no, _demanded _further contemplation, and for that reason he'd asked her to draw a bath, and had sent her away. He needed time alone to mull this over.

Of course, she had insisted upon helping him into the tub before she would leave, so that he wouldn't fall and die and leave her feeling like a murderer for the rest of her life - her words, more or less, though he suspected there was more truth to them than her cavalier attitude let on. So, with a small bath towel wrapped snugly about his waist, he'd allowed her to do it, much as it had pained him.

_One would think I'd be more used to being waited on,_ he thought with amusement, though the difference was obvious. House elves waited on him because it was their _compulsion _to do it, and even so he wasn't comfortable with letting them help him bathe, not since he'd been a child. It was too intimate, even for a servant.

The Weasley girl - he remembered her first name, but felt strangely uncomfortable at the idea of using it, even in his own thoughts - she was no servant. She didn't _have _to help him. She didn't even have to _talk _to him if she chose not to do so. He could remind her of obligations all he wished, and the fact remained that she could walk away if she chose, and there was not a single thing he would be able to do about it. She could tell him exactly where to stick his wand, and wash her hands of him without another word.

It made him wonder why she hadn't done it already. That made him wonder why it mattered to him.

Because it mattered, oh yes; it mattered a great deal.

He just didn't yet know _why._

Having her on her knees in front of him was what had done him in. It should have set him off on a tangent of dirty thinking, at least some of which he would generally be inclined to share verbally and perhaps by means of crude gesticulation as well. And she was a _Weasley, _on top of it all, which should have made the prospect all the more tempting. Yet, here he was, in the tub, no rude remarks having been made, and she was off arranging her own dorm and having a shower, or so she'd said because she was covered in soot from the Floo as well, her honor having remained unsullied by his would-be foul mouth.

Instead, she had seemed so strikingly vulnerable that he'd abandoned that childish notion immediately.

With that strange perception had come an overwhelming need to pause and analyze the moment, and that analysis had yielded no answers, only questions, like why was she helping him, and what was he thinking, and what was she thinking regarding him, and what did that make him feel? An endless series of questions to which he had no answers tumbled around and around in his mind, becoming more frustrating with every examination.

When she'd knelt before him, it had been an act of kindness.

The realization came to him, finally; one answer that only raised more questions. _Why? _Because she felt she had to? No… because he'd done something nice for her. She had even said she wanted to make them even for the broom. She was still thinking about that, which meant it mattered.

Now the question was, why had he been so inclined to commit that initial act of kindness, and where was it taking him?

Blowing out a frustrated breath, he sucked in a fresh one and held it, slipping further into the tub until his head was underwater.

He needed to think.

xxxxx

Ginny heaved a sigh as she rinsed the last of the soap from her body, watching as the suds swirled into the drain. She shut off the shower, toweled dry, and set her hair to rights. She thought of taking the time to unpack, but decided against it, for Malfoy was still in his bath and would no doubt begin to prune in the near future, at which point he would undoubtedly have a fit if she was not there to remove him from the tub.

Or would he simply try to get out on his own? That was the real worry; that in climbing out of the deep, claw-footed bathtub he might injure himself further. Ginny was certain that, too, would find its way around to being her fault, if only because her own conscience wouldn't just give it a rest. She shouldn't even be worrying about it right now - Malfoy was not someone to be _worried over_ - but she just couldn't seem to help it.

_It's only because he's hurt,_ she assured herself. _You'd feel the same about anyone who was injured and needed your help, that's all it is. Well, that, and you kind of owe him…_

Ginny nodded. That had to be it. She was indebted for the loan of the broomstick and the untimely Floo collision, and this was a means of repaying those debts. _But if that's all it is, _the inner voice chided, _then why do we keep thinking about it?_

_Because we are idiots, _Ginny replied to herself forcefully. It was what it was, and nothing more than that, and no senseless inner voice would convince her otherwise.

She poked around in her trunk, which someone had been kind enough to bring to her room, for a change of clothes. She would have to spend the night; the healer had all but shackled her to Malfoy, and she didn't want to think of the terms he might levy against her if he needed something in the small hours of the morning and his recovery suffered as a result.

_Sure, that's it… no, shut up, shut up! _Was she going to be arguing with herself all night? She hoped not.

Ultimately, she decided to just put on pajamas. It was only early afternoon, but Malfoy wouldn't be going anywhere, and therefore neither would she. She even had an old, comfortable, somewhat worn set that would cover her as functionally as actual clothing, and Malfoy would no doubt enjoy mocking the aged state of her attire. No reason they both couldn't get something out of it, right?

Once dressed, she made her way back to his room, and she was struck by how quiet it was; she'd half expected him to be bellowing her name for the whole dorm to hear by now. A knock on the closed bathroom door brought no reply, and Ginny began to worry, for suppose some accident had befallen him? Some _further _accident, for he was already hurt, and therefore less capable of helping himself if it came to that…

She pushed the door open and her worst fears were confirmed: his head was below the surface of the water, his arms were floating limply, and he wasn't moving.

"Malfoy!" she cried, rushing forward and plunging her pajama-clad arms into the tub.

His eyes snapped open in alarm as she gripped his shoulders and he flailed wildly. Ginny had heard of this: it could only be the panic of a drowning man! And now she was falling; thrown off balance by his sudden movement, her feet slipped on the bat mat, and with a great splash she was in the tub on top of him!

His eyes bulged as she landed on his chest, his mouth opening to release bubbles of much-needed air that she was now crushing out of him. Now it was she who was flailing wildly - the panic of a drowning woman! - and under different circumstances he might have found her sudden presence in the bathtub appealing. Different circumstances where he could breathe, and wasn't trapped underwater beneath a heavy, flailing object, blinded by a thrashing cloud of red Weasley hair.

After an eternity that was in reality only several seconds, his hands found her shoulders, and she stilled in his grasp, allowing him to leverage them both to sitting. She was awkwardly astride him, and he silently thanked Merlin for the towel he'd left around his waist, just in case she had come back in. Sucking in great, gasping breaths, she trembled slightly against his chest, so fleeting that he might have missed it if he wasn't so strangely attuned to _everything _she did. Without thinking, he let his hand fall soothingly to her back, almost an embrace, if one wanted to call it such a thing.

It proved to be a mistake. Whatever trance-like state she was in as a result of her sudden immersion lifted, and she shoved back from him, flushing red with embarrassment and shifting her knee, quite by accident, to a place he definitely didn't want it. He grunted wordlessly, struggling to breathe once again as the expression on his face suggested he was about to be sick.

"Weasley, your knee…" he wheezed at her as she looked upon him with confusion and concern, for he had very suddenly gone alarmingly pale; glancing down, she realized with horror that her knee was planted directly in the center of the towel he was still wearing. She levered herself up and out of the tub, drawing another grunt from him as the problem got worse before it got better.

"Weasley…" he groaned painfully, clinging to the side of the tub as he struggled not to sink beneath the water again and simply let it drown him. "You really are trying to murder me, aren't you…"

xxxxx

"For the last time, Malfoy, I thought you were drowning!" Ginny huffed as she helped him arrange himself on the bed. It was taking forever; he kept fussing dramatically with the pillows, and gave little moans and whimpers of pain when she indicated she did not wish to help him, sounds that she was certain were false, despite his injuries.

"I nearly did drown, thanks to you," he replied, his tone laying on the guilt, as if her own mind wasn't doing that enough already. "I think I actually saw a tunnel with a light at the end, that time. And then, as if to add insult to injury, you kneed me in the groin…"

"I don't want to discuss _that _again!" she snapped, her face flushing the horrible red yet again. Malfoy grinned; it was exactly the reaction he was looking for. "Anyway, if you hadn't started flailing around when I tried to pull you out, _none _of it would have happened!"

"You scared the life out of me, Weasley!" he protested, playing his role as her victim to the hilt. "I had no idea you were even there!"

She only growled, and returned to fluffing his pillows.

Earlier, once he'd recovered enough from her unintentional assault to be able to move, he'd allowed her to help him out of the bath. His back was still quite painful, after all, and her landing on him hadn't helped anything. Subsequently, he'd sat wetly on the toilet lid, towel and all, and waited for her to siphon up the water on the floor with her wand. Unsurprisingly, the bathroom had been effectively swamped by their encounter.

He'd dressed on his own, telling her to wear whatever she could find in his trunk if it pleased her. Though it pained him somewhat, dressing himself was preferable to experiencing another moment like the one he'd had when she had helped him earlier. He'd been knocked around, literally and figuratively, enough for one day. But it was not to end; when he emerged from the bathroom, his muscles feeling stiffer and more ill-used than they had before the bath, he found her wearing another set of his pajamas, a Slytherin-green long-sleeve shirt with matching plaid pants, the color of which set her hair absolutely on fire.

It was all he could do not to let his jaw literally drop. She was gorgeous, with her hair still wet from the bath but combed, and there was something undeniably intriguing about seeing her in his clothes.

It was suggestive, to say the least.

It had taken only an instant for him to compose himself, outwardly at least, and he was certain she had missed it. Afterward, he had covered his interest with a myriad of minor and incessant demands, for a glass of water, for his pillow to be primped, on and on until she was too annoyed to notice that he couldn't stop looking at her. Now, he was quite enjoying himself; it wasn't as if annoying people wasn't something he enjoyed anyway, and the Weaslette was waiting on him hand and foot.

When evening finally rolled around, after one of the house elves belonging to the dormitory had brought dinner, knowing in the way house elves did that both of them would be in his room, it was time to apply the bruise cream the healer had left so it could work on his battered flesh overnight. He could hardly apply it to his own back, and the thing of it was that he didn't know if having the Weasley girl do it for him was a delightful prospect or a disaster in the making.

He lay on his stomach as she unscrewed the lid from the little jar; when she dabbed it on, it felt icy cold, and he hissed softly. She smoothed it over his skin, hesitantly at first, and he wisely said nothing. The cream did its work and the soreness in his back began to ebb, and as she warmed to her task she began to knead his flesh quite firmly. Things were going along quite well, all things considered, until he failed to stifle the groan of pleasure that had been building on his lips throughout the process.

She froze, and the sudden anxious tension in her body did not go unnoticed. He couldn't _believe _he'd actually gotten so relaxed as to make such a slip! He certainly didn't need her to know exactly what her ministrations were doing to him. He enjoyed embarrassing _her, _but it was another thing entirely to embarrass _himself _in the process.

"Careful, Weasley. That is an _injury _you're rubbing, not a piece of meat, you know," he muttered dryly, lying through his teeth. She relaxed almost instantly.

_Good to know she'd prefer to be hurting me, _he grumbled internally, a sentiment that drained away like spent bathwater as she resumed, rubbing less forcefully but still quite pleasingly. Her fingertips sent a sensation like fire curling through his belly and settling somewhat lower, leaving him contentedly _un_settled.

He'd be remaining on his stomach for quite some time after she was done, he decided.

No sense straining his muscles again by moving about.

Yes, _that _was the reason… _really. _Or… not.

Malfoy buried his face in his pillow as she continued, hiding his smirk from view.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to ****Princess Phoenix Tears, Nugmeg44, Twilightgrl101, Greenstuff, ****Kay8abc****, and ****shana rose**** for their awesome reviews since the last update!**

**If you like this chapter, please review, and be sure to come back for the next one! =D**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 7! As always, please be kind and please enjoy! =)

* * *

**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 7: Downward-Facing What?_  
**

"First things first: No wands on the pitch, unless you are a coach," Gwenog Jones announced to the gathered prospective players. "While Quidditch players are, by law, permitted a wand in regulation gameplay, in training, the temptation to hex or otherwise bespell the competition is just too great. All coaches and instructors will carry wands in case of emergency. I trust you all got the memo?"

Indeed, they had; when Ginny had opened the door to Malfoy's room and snuck a furtive glance around the hallway, she'd found a package waiting for each of them, a brightly colored sheet of parchment on the top declaring the no-wand policy. A look down the hall told her no package waited at her own door. Those house elves again… how some wizards lived with them at home was beyond her. She found their uncanny knowledge rather creepy, and she had a sneaking suspicion they watched absolutely _everything _their masters did.

Perhaps one day she would ask Malfoy about that.

The package had contained training uniforms and safety gear; the required padding was to be worn with what appeared to be light cotton Muggle clothing of the sort one might see in a physical education class rather than the typical uniforms and cloaks of Quidditch. It had become apparent upon wearing the articles, however, that they'd been imbued with some low-level magic, for as soon as she'd put them on, they had shrunk to fit her perfectly and her name and training number had appeared in large, bold lettering on the back of the shirt, as well as a much smaller patch of lettering on the left breast of the shirt and on the lower front of the left leg of the shorts.

Malfoy, as was now apparent, looked perfectly _ridiculous _in shorts. It was quite plain that the majority of his flesh did not typically see the light of day, and the hair on his legs was just as pale as the hair on his head. Somehow it had not seemed so absurd when she'd seen him nearly naked the day before, but she had been rather distracted at the time, and in the sunny brilliance of the Quidditch pitch… it was all she could do to stifle a laugh when she looked at him. It did not escape her notice that he occasionally squirmed in discomfort, either.

It did not escape Gwenog Jone's notice that Malfoy had layered a white shirt with long sleeves under the gray cotton t-shirt the rest of them wore.

"Malfoy, your uniform is not regulation. I'll have to deduct points if you show up like this again. Those uniforms are provided for your safety; training in the summer heat can be dangerous."

Ginny watched anxiously as he conferred quietly with the Quidditch star. She knew perfectly well why he had worn the extra shirt, and it had nothing to do with a tendency to sunburn easily despite the use of sunblocking charms as he now claimed.

She had seen it, last night, as she was applying his anti-bruise cream; in fact, until then she hadn't noticed it at all, for it blended in with the myriad of other injuries he'd had, and for much of that time he'd been distractingly half-naked or more. It was only when she'd made to rub the anti-bruising cream on the faded purplish spot on his left forearm, and he'd snatched his arm away almost violently and shoved it under the pillow that she realized what she had seen: the Dark Mark, faded with the passage of time after Voldemort's death. It was hardly recognizable, but she was sure it wouldn't be difficult for the other members of the training camp to recognize it, especially as it failed to fade as a normal bruise would.

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as Gwenog Jones relented in response to Malfoy's insistence that his shirt had the same breathability charms as the uniform did and would therefore be perfectly safe, pending a note from the on-site healer which Ginny was certain Malfoy would obtain. Gwenog even tapped the leg of his shorts with her wand, transforming them into full-length pants.

Malfoy could talk anyone into anything, it seemed. Ginny was glad for this at the moment, a fact which surprised her; she never imagined she'd be willing to defend a former Death Eater. Yet she understood that Malfoy wasn't evil, that he hadn't been capable of doing the wrongs the other followers of the Dark Lord had done. He seemed to want too much to move on, while she suspected those true Death Eaters in Azkaban and remaining at large would never stop believing in the Dark Lord's message of domination and murder.

Draco Malfoy deserved a second chance, in Ginny's estimation.

Gwenog went on to give a lengthy explanation of the breakdown of their groups, which amounted to four groups capable of forming two teams each, or eight teams total. The groups were selected in such a way that skill levels were to be matched, allowing the players within them to challenge and train each other while still competing fairly. In addition to full-team scrimmages, the players of different positions would train with each other extensively. For Chasers, this meant six players running formations against each other in threes; for Beaters, it meant practicing in pairs with Bludgers flying rampantly. For Seekers, it essentially boiled down to having a training partner.

She tapped her hand with her wand and a clipboard appeared; it contained the group rosters, as became apparent when she began reading off names. Ginny jumped as she heard her own called.

"Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy: Seekers, Group One."

Malfoy caught Ginny's eye from where he stood a few yards away and smirked, as if to say _I told you so. _Evidently they were being matched based on skill; those in Group One needed less work in general, so their coaches could afford to work on strengthening other players. Ginny's heart fluttered. Gwenog Jones thought she was Group One material!

She was also rather pleased to be paired with Malfoy, though she wasn't really sure why she should be; it was only that, despite the previous day's repeated calamities, the two of them seemed to have an oddly functional way of getting along.

The groups divided accordingly, Malfoy moving to stand beside her. She couldn't wait to get in the air, but apparently, that was not going to happen just yet, for with a flick of Gwenog's wand, the mysterious mats each trainee carried, also part of the uniform package, unrolled and settled on the ground.

"Too often, in my opinion, school Quidditch teams emphasize flying skill while neglecting proper stretching and overall physical fitness," she announced as the faces of the prospects began to contort with dread at the idea of exercise that didn't involve a broom. "This will be but one of many exercises in which we will regularly engage in order to further discipline of body, mind, and spirit. Every morning, we will begin training with a forty-five minute yoga session; every evening, we will end with a shorter session so that we cool down properly."

Ginny could have laughed out loud at the look of disgust on Malfoy's face, had she not jammed her fist against her mouth at the last second. It didn't seem that he was going to say anything, though; he'd no doubt decided against risking his recently-won clothing privileges by protesting an activity he couldn't get out of doing anyway.

"You will _all _participate," Gwenog continued, "_every _morning and evening that we train, to the fullest of your ability. The one exception is that ladies will not perform inversions when it's their time of the month. For now, this only means the downward-facing dog pose. I will alert you to other such poses in the future, as we learn them."

"You hear that, Malfoy? No downward-facing dog for you!" someone called out.

Ginny glanced around and recognized Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote as Fred and George's unworthy successors from her Hogwarts days, now prospective Beaters assigned to Group Three.

"Shut it, Peakes!" Malfoy snapped lividly, his face shading pink. "Your _mother's _a downward-facing dog!"

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Peakes shouted.

"Keep dreaming, Peakes," Malfoy sneered in return.

"Remarks of a sexist nature will _not _be tolerated at this training camp!" Gwenog bellowed; not for nothing was she captain of the only all-female Quidditch team in the male-dominated sport. "That includes remarks made to individuals of _any _gender! This will be the only warning given on this point."

Ginny shot a glare at Peakes and Coote, who were now too busy glowering in Malfoy's direction to notice. When Ginny had found the uniform packages that morning, Malfoy's had had a little pink bottle of Mrs. Monthly's sitting on top, which she'd removed before he could see. She now suspected she knew who was responsible… although really, it could have been almost anybody. Malfoy _had _taken that potion in full view of half of the dorm's occupants, after all.

Under Gwenog Jones' instruction, the prospects removed their shoes and socks. Ginny took a moment to enjoy the pleasant feeling of grass under her feet before she took to her mat. Gwenog coached them through introductory poses and the underlying principles of stretching behind each, demonstrating for all to see and occasionally approaching one of the trainees to coax a pose into perfection. Ginny felt clumsy and awkward, and her poses needed correction more than once. Malfoy, she noticed enviously, still looked rather surly, but had taken to the activity with his usual elegance. Was there nothing he was bad at?

As Ginny pushed her body into the now-infamous downward dog pose, her calves stretching fantastically, she stole another glance at Malfoy. She almost fell over, for there he was, hindquarters up in the air as he leered rather suggestively at Peakes and Coote, who were now practically vibrating with rage and having difficultly maintaining the position themselves as a result.

Obviously, the healer's magic had worked wonders on Malfoy's back.

By the end of the session, Ginny felt sweaty and boneless. It was a good feeling, but the exercise had taken more effort than she had expected. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked perfectly composed and serene as the exercise ended, while Peakes and Coote seemed to be on the verge of falling apart, having been unable to manage a single correct position as Malfoy had continued to bait them.

"Namasté," Malfoy sighed contentedly as he repeated Gwenog's dismissal.

"I'm pretty sure that _wasn't _what she meant when she was talking about discipline of body, mind, and spirit," Ginny remarked wryly.

"Really?" he asked innocently. "Yet I feel _fantastic _in _all _of those."

"I'm pretty sure Peakes and Coote don't," she snickered as she watched them lumbering off with their group.

"And that just makes me feel even _better,_" he replied happily.

The next few hours were spent running a variety of drills, some as in-air warm-up exercises, some designed to meld the players into cohesive teams, and still others to assess and refine skills particular to the position each was trying for. Ginny hardly cared, for merely being in the air on the Nimbus 2001 was heaven. It was fast and it handled magnificently, and it felt like an age since she'd last been on it. She had practiced only a little at home since tryouts had ended, for she still had not wanted Ron to see the broom, which she'd kept locked in her bedroom at all times besides when she flew. She knew he would have heard of it, but if he saw it he'd want a closer look. She knew he hated Malfoy and frankly, she had not trusted him not to be completely irrational about it, possibly taking his hatred of its owner out on the broom itself.

Did she think her brother was capable of being so selfish and short-sighted? The answer was an unequivocal _yes. _

If she had found flying on that broom to be exhilarating, however, then flying with Malfoy proved doubly so. Whether competing in speed drills or maneuvering around Bludgers or in mutual pursuit of the Snitch, he was an extremely skilled opponent, and she recognized immediately that flying with him brought out her own skills to their finest. They were quite evenly matched, she soon discovered, as the Snitch found its way to her fingers more and more.

She was reminded suddenly of her childhood, and of her older brother Charlie who had first taught her to fly. She recalled with what childlike glee she would catch the Snitch, and he would carry her piggyback on their way back to the Burrow where he would declare her a better Seeker than he was. Of course, he'd only been letting her win so that she would have fun. There was none of that with Malfoy, for he wasn't the sort to let someone win for any reason and this was real, adult competition, but there was an element of that same joy in every successful catch, and she wondered how she could have suppressed that feeling for so long as a Chaser.

_Because Harry was Gryffindor's Seeker, and there was never room for you,_ a voice spoke up in her head, but she pushed it away. Now was not the time to think of Harry, who had never fully seen her true Quidditch potential. Possibly, he had not wanted to see, as he so often failed to see true talent in others, but that hardly mattered, for at last there was someone who _did _see her potential and recognized it for what it was. Without Malfoy, she realized, she could very well have ended up going home and not coming back after that first day, pretending she had given it all she had while always knowing she could have tried harder.

And now, for the first time in her life, she truly _was _a Seeker, not a coddled little sister, not a Chaser-turned-Harry's-replacement, not a mere hopeful at Quidditch tryouts. This was _real. _This was _happening. _Even if she wasn't chosen for a team, which Malfoy seemed to think was an absurd notion, she was a real Quidditch Seeker _right now, _and for as long as it lasted, she would revel in every moment, and breathe it in with every breath she took.

The thought occurred to her, too, that for once she was _not _being seen as a little sister, as the younger sibling of Fred or George or Ron, nor as some appendage of Harry Potter. She supposed some here saw her that way, Peakes and Coote undoubtedly among them, but Malfoy didn't. Perhaps, once upon a time, he had seen her as nothing more than Ron Weasley's sister, just another redhead in a sea of redheads. That was somewhat unavoidable, but it was clear he no longer saw her as anything but herself.

A flash of gold that was the Snitch caught her eye and she gave chase; a flash of platinum blond that was Malfoy was at her side in a heartbeat for he had spotted it too, and together they shot off after it, twisting and turning through the air in fierce competition and mutual ecstasy as the little ball shifted direction with absolute deviousness. Crowded with her joy and her exhilaration, her mind and her heart held no more room for her doubts, or for Harry; there was only this, and this was wonderful.

The sun hung low in the sky when Gwenog Jones blew the whistle that called them to ground. Ginny was breathing heavily and grinning broadly as she dismounted the broom just behind Malfoy, who glanced back at her, smirking slyly, the Golden Snitch glinting from between his fingers. The last catch had been his, but the chase he'd given her had been the best of the day.

Wait… wasn't it supposed to be the chase the _Snitch_ had given _them_?

Ginny felt a blush creep over her features, and she hoped it would be disguised by the warm light of the late-afternoon sun and her already flushed skin, the result of their intense physical activity.

_Yes, because thinking that way is so going to help, _she chastised herself. The thought of 'intense physical activity' with Malfoy was not going to help her blush in any way whatsoever.

Malfoy watched her out of the corner of his eye, his smirk broadening slightly as she glanced furtively in his direction, her blush deepening. She didn't realize he was watching, he was sure.

It was, all in all, a strangely gratifying sight.

The Snitch wriggled free from his fingers, sailing off to nestle in a trunk with the rest of the Quidditch equipment, and after watching it fly away, Malfoy and Ginny joined the group for Gwenog's evening yoga routine.

* * *

**A/N: Much thanks to Nutmeg44, Princess Phoenix Tears, Greenstuff, shana rose, Lost Enchanter,**** Twilightgrl101, and beeziebug for their awesome reviews since the last update!**

**I hope this chapter wasn't too silly, but I like yoga and I felt it was too fun not to write it in! If you liked this chapter, please review, and be sure to come back for the next one! =D**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 8! As always, please be kind and please enjoy! =)

* * *

**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 8: The Calm Before the Storm  
_**

The first week of camp passed uneventfully, with the exception that Gwenog Jones was joined in her capacity of overseeing training by Oliver Wood, who was now the primary Keeper and co-captain for Puddlemere United. Ginny had been pleased to see him, though she did not know him very well. He was a familiar face and a friendly one, having been the Gryffindor captain for nearly the entire time Fred and George had been on the team as well as a classmate of Percy's.

He had immediately greeted Ginny with warmth, asking after George and to a lesser extent Percy, for Percy had never fully appreciated Wood's interest in sports and Wood had felt the same about Percy's academic fanaticism. He had expressed sorrow for Fred as well. Ginny wondered that Wood had never come round to visit George, but it was sometimes like that; after Fred had been killed, some had gone out of their way to express condolences while others found it too awkward or painful and never showed up at all. She didn't hold it against him, for she knew it was the latter reason. Wood's attachment to the twins, from what Fred and George had told her back then, had been a strong one.

That didn't stop Ginny from having a laugh at Wood's expense as he fumbled his way through morning yoga, however. Obviously, Gwenog Jones' training regimen was innovative to say the least, perhaps seen by some, as suggested by Wood's ever more perplexed expression, as insane.

Ginny's flying was improving more than she had imagined it could in such a short time. It seemed that every day, her skills developed an ever more refined edge. This week was about flying and general Seeker abilities like speed and agility, while the real work would begin next week with specified training involving both those Seeker maneuvers that were tried-and-true, and those that were on the cutting edge of professional play, some of which required such a developed skill level that they'd be worked up to over the course of weeks.

Ginny had never been more excited.

She had also taken to having meals with Malfoy, a fact she suspected was feeding the dormitory's gossip mill to a rather high degree, but there wasn't as much to it as was surreptitiously claimed. She found him to be altogether not as horrible as her brothers and Harry had always made him out to be. Truly, she thought that had he been in Gryffindor, many of his supposedly fatal flaws of character might well have been overlooked, and possibly even admired, for cockiness and assertion had been traits often demonstrated in her own house. He also shared her love of Quidditch and, as her training partner, was able to discuss the topic with her on a uniquely intimate level.

Of course, there was the matter of the Dark Mark, now almost unrecognizable but still there on his arm. Ginny didn't know what to do about that. Granted, there was nothing to do about it in a literal sense, as it would either fade completely on its own or it wouldn't, and there was nothing that could be done for it either way. But it was proof that he had been a Death Eater, however minimal his involvement, and while she felt that she was able to come to terms with his past she didn't think her family would accept their friendship so easily, or in some cases, at all.

The matter could go one of three ways, she decided. She could just not mention their developing friendship to her family, who with the exception of George would go on, happily unawares. Alternately, she could shove Malfoy down their throats and make them accept him. Or they could just kill him rather than accepting him and consider the matter closed. Problematic, that last, and a possibility that Ginny was warily unwilling to relegate to the realm of the improbable.

Late into the first week, there had come a night when Malfoy wasn't in his room at dinnertime. A check of the mess hall failed to turn him up either, and by the time she had failed to find him in the lounge, Ginny was well and truly concerned. Though there had been some continued harassment over the issue of the period potion, mostly in the form of bottles of Mrs. Monthly's charmed to read 'Ms. Malfoy's' turning up in strategic locations, a phenomenon that Malfoy had staunchly refused to report, there was nothing unpleasant enough to warrant him leaving, at least not that Ginny was aware.

Having failed to turn him up in the dorm's interior, she wandered outside with the idea that a walk around the pitch might bring some clarity. The night was warm and comfortable, the stars in the sky shining brightly as they were well away from any established communities, Muggle or otherwise.

Glancing down from the heavens above, Ginny stopped up short as a spot of white-blonde caught her eye in the darkness. Malfoy sat in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, looking up, evidently watching the night sky as she had been. As a result, he hadn't yet noticed her, and it wasn't until she sat next to him that he became aware of her presence.

She washed over him in a wave; her smell and the sound of her breathing in the night air surrounded him, and an unknowable feeling, though a happy one, rushed through his entire being. He had thought that he had wanted to be alone tonight, yet her arrival informed him otherwise.

"I missed you at dinner," she remarked with a raised eyebrow, an invitation to enlighten her as to what he was doing out here if he so wished, and he felt that he actually wanted to tell her.

"It was my birthday today," he said quietly. His small statement had exactly the effect he had predicted and had hoped to avoid by coming out here, yet from her, it was strangely welcome.

"What? But you should have said something. We could have celebrated, or you could have gotten a pass to go home and spend the day with your parents…" she gushed, words tumbling from her mouth with the speed of a waterfall over a cliff. He held up a hand to forestall her commentary.

"I'm sure this greatly offends some dearly-held Weasley notion of yours of what family is supposed to be, but I didn't want to see mine today. I didn't want to have some dinner thrown in my honor where I would be paraded in front of my parents' acquaintances so everyone could see what a caring, happy family we pretend to be."

Ginny sucked in a breath beside him and he cut her off before she could fire off her next round of verbiage.

"Don't get me wrong, Weaslette. I know they love me, in their way. It's not really even their fault that they are how they are, especially in my mother's case, but it is what it is. I don't enjoy having absolutely every personal event of my own become an opportunity for them to repair their public image. I was just lucky to have an excuse not to be there this year."

"But doesn't it make you feel sad to have done nothing to celebrate this year?" Ginny asked. "Even if you didn't want to be with your family, we could have done something here."

"I think you'll find that, besides yourself, there isn't anyone here who would willingly celebrate the fact that I've gone another year without dying."

"That's a horrible thing to say!"

"But true, nonetheless," he replied with a shrug. "This is all that I wanted. I'm finally getting a chance to be something that isn't attached to my family, or the war, or any of it. This is the first chance I've truly had to do something of my own choosing that isn't being dictated by what my family wants and that isn't tainted by what I was made to do years ago."

"If that's all you wanted, then why are you out here?"

"Because it's not just any other day. I can't pretend it isn't," he sighed. "I just wanted to be alone."

"Should I leave?"

"No," he said softly. "I think I like it better with you here."

Ginny shifted on the grass beside him, trying to decide what he meant. Finally, she opted to take his words at face value and nothing more. Malfoy wasn't the sort to leave things veiled in the shadows of subtext, was he? Of course, she had to admit that there had already proved to be more to him than she'd thought.

"So, what were you looking at?" she asked.

"Stars. What else do you suppose is up there?" he sneered lightly.

"_Obviously, _Malfoy!" she cried, punching him in the arm as he laughed at her disdain.

"Ouch, that hurts! You punch like a _boy, _Weasley!" he teased.

"Thank you," she said, smirking proudly.

"It's not really something to be proud of. Have you checked yourself for extra parts lately? Perhaps you'd like me to check for you?" he leered.

"I don't have any such parts, and I wouldn't let you check me for them in a million years!" she shrieked, laughing as she shoved him over into the grass, and squealing as he grabbed her and pulled her with him.

They both froze as she landed on top of him, she with a startled expression and a chaos of embarrassing thoughts whirling through her head, he with that same neutrally curious expression she'd seen him wear before, almost as if even he didn't know what he was thinking. They stayed there, unmoving, staring at each other, the only sound passing between them that of their breathing, hers rapid and flustered, his measured and slow, and of their own hearts pounding in their ears.

Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he eased her to his side and tucked her under his arm, wrapping it around her as her head came to rest on his shoulder. She tensed for a moment in surprise, but then allowed herself to relax against him, her palm resting on his chest quite naturally.

"I was looking at Draco," he answered her earlier question.

"The constellation?"

"No, the dragon from Greek mythology. He's up there too," he drawled, glancing sideways at her as she scowled at him. "Yes, the constellation. You're so _touchy, _Weasley. Please don't punch me again."

"Where is it?" she asked softly.

"It's sort of wrapped around Ursa Minor."

"I don't see it," she muttered. "I was terrible at astronomy. I quit taking it as soon as I could."

"I rather liked astronomy," he said, letting himself smile as he knew she was looking at the sky and not him.

A thought occurred to him, and he dug in his pocket for his wand. Ginny looked at him questioningly as he pointed it skyward, but as he traced from one star to the next, a thin, faintly glowing thread of green light remained behind, and soon the constellation was clearly defined for her to see.

"That's better, isn't it?" he asked her.

"Considerably," she replied, relaxing contentedly as she stared skyward. "So, you were terribly good at astronomy, potions, and flying. Was there anything in school you were bad at?"

"'Bad at,' no," he smirked. "But I didn't like Care of Magical Creatures. I've never been allowed to keep pets besides an owl, and that hairy oaf Hagrid had a way of just about shoving one in front of all sorts of horrible creatures."

"Hagrid was nice!" Ginny cried out hotly. "Though admittedly, some of the creatures he tried to show my year were rather scary, and he wasn't always safe about it. But I heard it was you who threw yourself in front of the hippogriff."

"Er… yes. Well," Malfoy cleared his throat in an effort to dispel his embarrassment. "It always boiled down to really inane stuff like binding hurt bowtruckles or ridiculously harrowing affairs like raising blast-ended skrewts. The hippogriff lesson was probably the only good one he ever gave, but by then I was far too skrewted-out to realize it. I may have mistakenly believed it to be closer to the bowtruckle end of things."

"I hate to admit it, but I enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures more when Professor Grubbly-Plank was teaching it," Ginny revealed guiltily.

"Oh, that was just as bad," Malfoy replied. "Every lesson involved fawning over something cute and tame that only liked girls. That makes a very boring class for a teenage boy."

"I suppose that's true," Ginny admitted. "So… what other constellations are up there?"

"Well, there's Ursa Minor, as I've already said," he stated, outlining with his wand as he went, "and on the other side of Draco there's Ursa Major, which is commonly known as the Big Dipper, but really it's meant to be a bear."

He paused thoughtfully for a moment before he continued.

"If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll tell you something else about Draco," he offered.

"What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I mean it, you really have to promise you won't tell, and you have to promise not to make fun of me for it, either," he insisted.

"Fine! I promise. Now tell me!" Ginny coaxed.

"In ancient Egyptian astronomy, the part of the sky that we now call Draco was seen to represent Tawaret."

"What's that?" she asked, as the name didn't sound familiar.

"It's a fat, pregnant-looking hippo goddess with big breasts and a crocodile's mouth."

Ginny stared wide-eyed at the night sky for a moment before she burst out laughing.

"See? I knew you'd laugh," he groaned.

"I didn't promise not to _laugh_," she cried through fits of giggles. "I only promised I wouldn't tell anyone or make fun of you for it, and I won't! But honestly, it sounds like something you'd find in one of Hagrid's classes!"

Malfoy harrumphed indignantly, secretly pleased at her amusement as she laughed against his side. He could feel the laughter before it even left her chest, and it seemed to flow into him quite pleasantly. After a time, she quieted and rolled onto her back, her head still resting on his shoulder. She stared up at the sky through the faint, green lines he'd drawn that still hovered over them.

"You needn't worry," she said at last. "I don't think Tawaret suits you even half as well as the dragon does."

"Thank you," he answered dryly. "But I still don't want it getting out. I'm having enough problems with people thinking I've been having periods; the last thing I need is to be equated with a pregnant hippo."

Ginny tried to stifle a laugh at this and failed utterly. Draco rolled his eyes as she devolved into a mess of giggles once more.

As she calmed again, he began pointing out the other constellations that were visible, and the two of them remained on the Quidditch pitch long into the night as they observed the stars above.

xxxxx

Ginny was surprised the next day when Gwenog blew her whistle and called her down from an agility trial. As she landed, she saw why; she had a visitor. Deep russet hair announced her brother Ron's less-than-welcome presence.

"Hey, Ginny!" he called out amicably enough as she landed near him, regarding him suspiciously.

"What do you want, Ron?" she asked brusquely.

"Well, I… hey, what broom are you flying on?" he asked as the broom in her hand caught his attention. "Where'd you get it?"

"Never mind that, Ron, just tell me why you're here," she replied snappishly.

"Er… right," he said, tearing his eyes from the broom. Now wasn't the time to be distracted by curiosity… but that broom looked damned familiar! "Well, I heard that you'd be having a day off from training tomorrow, and Mum suggested that I invite you out to dinner with me and Hermione. Sort of a congratulatory thing, you know."

"Mum suggested?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"Well, yeah, I mean… you're doing well here, I've heard, and it's… time to mend bridges and all that."

Ginny had the distinct feeling that Ron was parroting what their mother had said. She would have to accept, if their mother had gone to such lengths to get Ron to agree to do it… yet, she didn't feel it was quite right to let her brother off the hook. If only there was something…

She thought of Malfoy the night before, and how he hadn't done anything to celebrate his birthday. He would love a chance to piss Ron off, and she felt that she was entitled to bring a friend after all Ron had done. The bloody tosser had it coming! Besides, there was a free dinner in it for both herself and Malfoy. Her plan thusly hatched, she turned to her brother with a grin.

"Is it okay if there's a fourth for dinner?" she asked casually, so as not to betray her real intentions. Ron's eyes seemed to light up at the prospect of her acceptance.

"Great! We'll meet tomorrow at the Silver Unicorn, then," he said, returning her grin. "Say, eight o'clock?"

"Perfect," she agreed, surprised that he had named such a nice restaurant.

With a parting wave, she took to the air again, where Malfoy, still dodging Bludgers in her absence, had gone unnoticed by Ron.

"Everything alright?" he called to her as he ducked a particularly swift-moving Bludger.

"Fine," she called back as she whipped into the fray. "Want to come to dinner with Ron and Hermione tomorrow? It would really piss him off if you were there, and I don't want to let him off the hook just yet."

"Dinner with Weaselby and Granger?" Malfoy sneered. "Can't imagine why I'd want to watch those two eating, of all things. But if it's for the sake of pissing him off, then… yeah, I'll go."

Ginny smiled happily as she and Malfoy continued to weave around the Bludgers that were being hit at them ferociously by their group's Beaters. By angering her brother and taking Malfoy out to dinner, she was hitting two Bludgers with one bat, figuratively speaking. All in all, she felt quite pleased with herself.

xxxxx

Ron Weasley left the pitch feeling quite pleased with himself. His sister had agreed to come to dinner, which meant she'd have to reconcile with him and he wouldn't have to hear about it from their mother anymore. And she asked if there could be a fourth for dinner - she wanted him to invite someone! She had tried to play it cool, but he'd noticed her excitement brimming just below the surface, barely contained. What an observant brother he was!

He couldn't wait to tell Harry!

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**A/N: Oh no, Ron, what are you doing? =P  
**

**Much thanks to Greenstuff, Princess Phoenix Tears, ****Twilightgrl101, ****shana rose, Nutmeg44,**** Kay8abc, and Crazy Girl Writer for their awesome reviews since the last update!**

**If you liked this chapter, please review, and be sure to come back for the next one! =D**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Language is an issue here and there, and if it gets too language-y I'll up the rating sooner. Consider yourselves warned!**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 9! More of Ron being an ass, and... Harry? As always, please be kind and please enjoy! =)

* * *

**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 9: A Dinner Date with Disaster  
_**

Ginny arrived at the restaurant early, and alone. Her dress was sleeveless, with wide straps and a square-cut neck, pale green with black accents at the waist and lower hem, which stopped above the knee. It was a color scheme that flattered her hair, and one that she suspected Malfoy might like; as much as this night was about payback for her brother, she wanted to look good both for Malfoy and while sitting next to him. Straightening the front of the dress, she entered the establishment and searched for her brother in the dinner crowd.

She and Malfoy had decided that it was better if she arrived without him, letting her brother get settled at their table before Malfoy arrived in the hopes that he wouldn't be able to storm out once he was seated. Then, Malfoy would make a fashionably late entrance and join them. After all, if Ginny was expected to endure some long, uncomfortable dinner with Ron where Hermione was obviously expected to referee, shouldn't Ron have to suffer the same?

Ginny smiled nervously as she spotted her brother, who looked unnaturally cheery. It unnerved her, for she couldn't imagine that he could be so excited over the prospect of making amends. Ron hated things like apologies and admitting he was wrong, even if those things were only tacitly implied rather than overtly stated. She was beginning to wonder how he viewed this dinner - was it meant to be her surrender, and his absolution from all blame in the matter?

Well, that was what backup plans were for. Ron might think all was forgiven now, but when Malfoy arrived, he'd get the message loud and clear, and Ginny would have the upper hand.

_Since when did I start thinking like a Slytherin? _Ginny wondered briefly. _Have I been hanging around Malfoy too much?_

But no, she had always been this way, she realized; when one grew up with so many older brothers, each and every one of them willing to push her around, one learned not to give in so easily. That's all it was, really, and maybe a desire for Malfoy to make a strong impression. It might do Ron some good, and it would _certainly _do some good for Ginny, if Ron knew that she was capable of making her own friends, that there were people to whom she could turn outside of the family and the Golden Trio.

She was tired of being pushed around and treated like a baby in all the unflattering ways, with people reacting with surprise or dismay every time she expressed some ambition. They hadn't let her fight in the war, and yes, she had been young, and yes, no one should _want _to fight, but now there were questions about which she would always wonder. She would always wonder if her fighting could have meant the difference between Fred living or dying, or Lupin or Tonks or her dear friend Colin, and she would never know because she hadn't been given that chance. She thought that quite possibly George understood this, for he alone in her family didn't treat her as though she was incapable. She could only imagine the thoughts that must have tormented him after Fred's death, but she knew she was not alone in wondering what she could have done differently.

Ginny shook off those depressing thoughts and returned to the moment at hand as Ron greeted her happily and Hermione enveloped her in a hug. Ginny felt rather badly for Hermione, who, like Ron, had no clue as to the scene that was about to unfold, but who, unlike Ron, was undeserving.

She felt badly for Hermione on another level too, for though the bushy-haired witch had been friends with her brother for ages, and everyone thought it obvious that she and Ron would become an item, Ron remained clueless in his approach to her. It was unclear whether he had some mental block when it came to dating, or if he was just plain mental. After the Lavender Brown affair had exploded in his face, his love life had been nothing but a parade of similar disasters since, with Hermione watching from the sidelines and becoming progressively more distressed as time wore on.

At least the horrible nicknames of Won-Won and Lav-Lav were gone for good; there had been a time when Ginny felt she might hex the wretched couple the next time such drivel reached her ears.

The three were shown to their table and took their seats; no inquiry was made as to the status of her date, and for that, Ginny was grateful. The whole thing would be utterly blown if Ron left in a huff before Malfoy had even arrived. The three of them made small talk as they looked over their menus, when Ron looked up toward the door and broke into a huge grin.

"Well, it looks as if our fourth has arrived," he remarked happily.

Ginny's brow furrowed. How could Ron know whom she'd invited? Furthermore, he was happy about it, and that wasn't the reaction she'd expected. She cast a glance to the door as well, and froze as she recognized not Draco Malfoy's platinum blonde, but the raven hair of Harry Potter. Her eyes widened in horror as the bespectacled man made his way to their table and took the fourth seat like he owned the place.

"Ron, Hermione," he greeted them, taking on a smirk as he let his eyes linger on her. "Ginny."

Her heart crawled icily up her throat, leaving a feeling of sickness in its wake. What could Ron have been thinking, telling her to invite someone and secretly inviting Harry anyway? She gripped the clutch purse in her lap tightly, reigning in her emotions carefully. She would not allow the tears that threatened at her brother's betrayal to fall, she resolved; she would give neither Ron nor Harry the satisfaction. She averted her eyes from both of them, sparing herself the smug, self-satisfied look that presently graced her brother's features, and this time, she did spot a flash of platinum blond.

Malfoy had arrived, and he looked… well, frankly, he looked amazing. Ginny hadn't seen him in all black since he had first arrived at the dormitory and she'd been more than a little preoccupied on that occasion. He was dressed in black trousers and a black shirt that was buttoned all the way to the top. He'd skipped a tie, which would have looked odd without a jacket anyway; clearly, he was dressed just casually enough to be considered rude in a restaurant like this while still maintaining social acceptability, a nuance she was certain Ron would miss completely. The outfit served to make Malfoy's white-blond hair and pale skin stand out, with the overall effect being quite nice to look at indeed.

The heart that had been unpleasantly occupying her throat seemed to stop beating as it plummeted to her feet. She watched helplessly as he walked in and approached the maitre d', as his brow furrowed when he was given a negative reply to his query. His gaze followed the maitre d's uncertain glance and found her, his features hardening into a mask that betrayed no emotion whatsoever, and after another word with the maitre d', he made his way to the bar.

Ginny was rapidly becoming convinced that her circumstances could not possibly get worse, although she'd felt a fleeting moment of relief when Malfoy had positioned himself at the bar, apparently content not to engage in a public confrontation with Harry Potter. Malfoy was infamous enough as it was. Yet, she could feel the glare he fixed on her as he sipped his firewhiskey. It seemed to burn into her, although she couldn't tell what emotion was behind it. She imagined he was angry; she knew she would be livid if the circumstances were reversed… and yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that it amused him on some level to watch the hideous scene before him unfold, that he found it all rather entertaining.

He had to be scheming something. Ginny hoped it involved getting her the hell away from Harry.

Drinks were served, food was ordered and pleasantries were exchanged, although Ginny's felt horribly forced, and after he'd talked Quidditch with Ron for a few minutes, Harry excused himself to the restroom. _Finally, _Ginny thought as she rounded on her brother, her temper surfacing at last.

"Ronald Weasley! What are you playing at?" she hissed angrily. Ron blinked, assuming a nervous yet clueless expression.

"What? Why're you mad at me?" he squeaked, looking genuinely perplexed.

"Why did you tell me I could invite someone if you were just going to bring… _him?_" she spat, gesturing at Harry's seat.

"You never said you wanted to invite someone!" her brother protested.

"I asked you if it was okay to have a fourth!" she snapped, only just managing to keep her voice at an appropriate volume.

"I thought you meant I should invite Harry! I thought you finally wanted to get back with him!" Ron replied defensively.

"Oh, Ron, you didn't!" Hermione chimed in, her eyes widening in horror as she finally comprehended Ginny's ire. "How could you?"

"Well why would she want to bring someone else anyway?" he snapped. "It's not like there's anyone she likes, and they wouldn't be as good as Harry even if there was!"

"As a matter of fact, Ronald, I _did _invite someone, as a friend, and he's been waiting at the bar this whole time because the maitre d' wouldn't seat him!" she cried angrily.

Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, and glanced at the bar to verify Ginny's claim. If true, it had to be humiliating to the point of inexcusability for the individual in question.

"What? Where? Where is he?" Ron asked, his head bobbling as he scanned the bar. "I don't recognize anyone besides that git Malfoy, why they'd let _him _in here, I'll never know… Blimey, Ginny, you can't mean that fat, bald bloke in the corner behind him? Way too old for you, if you ask me…"

Ginny rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. As though on cue, Malfoy left the bar and sauntered over to their table, a fresh tumbler of firewhiskey in hand, and settled himself in Harry's seat. Ron gaped and spluttered like a fish out of water, while Hermione only stared with bulging eyes. The waiter arrived with their food just then, and set plates before each of them, doing a double-take as he set Harry's steak in front of Malfoy.

"I see you've taken the liberty of ordering for me," Malfoy smirked as he cut into the meat, playing his role to the hilt. "You shouldn't have."

He speared a tidbit of steak with his fork and popped it into his mouth, grinning at Ginny savagely as he slid it off the fork with his teeth. Hermione's jaw had long since dropped and her mouth now hung open as Ron's had done; Ron, by this time, had recovered himself enough to speak.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he bellowed, bringing the activity of the restaurant to a halt around them.

"I'm eating, what's it look like?" Malfoy replied caustically.

It was at that moment that Harry decided to return.

"What is going on here?" he asked, his voice trembling with ill-concealed irritation.

"Great barking Cerberus," Ginny cursed as she hid her face in her hand.

"Fancy seeing you here, Potter," Malfoy replied with utterly false charm. "What a coincidence. You see, Weasley here - the female one - has invited me to dinner with the other Weasley and Granger. Will you be joining us?"

"Allow me to correct you, Malfoy," Harry hissed. "You have not been invited, Ginny is my date tonight, and you are in my seat. And that is my steak!"

"Oh, really?" Malfoy replied, grinning ferally as he took another bite of Harry's steak. "I'd send this back then, if I were you. It's terribly overdone. Why would anyone want a steak that doesn't bleed when you cut it?"

"Get your arse out of my seat, you bloody toerag, before I remove you myself!" Harry snapped. "In case you haven't noticed, Ginny is _mine._"

Ginny felt her face redden with anger, but before she could unleash it upon Harry, Malfoy pushed back from the table hard enough to jostle everyone's drinks and stood, picking up his tumbler of firewhiskey. For a moment, Ginny thought he might be leaving, and she suddenly felt that she desperately didn't want him to go, even though it would certainly end the unfortunate scene she was stuck in. However, rather than leaving, he circled the table until he was standing behind her.

"I think Weasley is more than capable of deciding for herself to whom she does or does not belong," he drawled, letting his fingers trace up her bare arm. "As for me, that terrible steak and worse company has put me off dinner. I rather feel like going out for drinks."

His fingertips slid over her shoulder and up her neck to press insistently at the underside of her chin. She looked up at Malfoy, ignoring Harry's livid glare and her brother's spluttering rage at Malfoy touching his sister in a manner that looked more than a little intimate.

"What do you say, Weasley?" he asked, and although he was smirking arrogantly, his eyes held a gleam that promised the rescue she'd been hoping for. She pushed back from the table and stood facing him.

"I think I can drink you under the table, Malfoy," she replied, warming to the offer of competition.

"If you're going to try, there's something you should know," he murmured, his voice only for her though the others could still hear. He held up his tumbler of firewhiskey. "You're already behind."

Without a second thought, she snatched the tumbler from his hand, gulped the contents, and slammed it down on the table with a bang that reverberated through the dining room of the restaurant.

"Hermione, I'll owl you tomorrow," she said briskly, and without a word to her brother or Harry, she led Malfoy out of the restaurant. Once they were past the anti-apparition field that kept people from skipping out on the check, Malfoy pulled her close and they disapparated with a pop, leaving Ron and Harry with no way to follow.

"What the hell was _that _all about, Ron?" Harry snapped. "I thought you said she told you to invite me!"

"I thought she did!" Ron squawked defensively. "It's not my fault my sister's bloody mental."

"Too right she is, bringing that git here, of all people," Harry seethed. "He must have done something to her to make her bring him. I'll have to get to the bottom of this."

"You boys are such idiots…" Hermione groaned, signaling the waiter for another drink before she pushed her plate aside to rest her head on the table.

xxxxx

Ginny and Malfoy popped back into existence on the cobblestone street of an area she did not recognize, but knew immediately as part of the wizarding world by its appearance. Presumably they were also still somewhere in London, because Apparition became more difficult with increased distance, side-along Apparition even more so, and _she _certainly hadn't been the one to bring them here.

"Do you think your brother's mad enough now?" Malfoy asked, smirking as he turned to her.

"Quite, thanks to you," she replied with a smirk of her own. "And… thank you for dealing with Harry, even though I'm sure I'll hear about it from my family later. Merlin, the nerve! I can't believe Ron invited him!"

"You needn't thank me for Potter, the bloody prat," he said as he began to lead her down the street. "I'm quite happy to have thrown that in for free."

"I can't believe you started eating his steak," Ginny added with a giggle as she followed his lead without hesitation. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Like I said," he replied, grinning mischievously, "Out for drinks."

* * *

**A/N: Dun dun duuuunnnnn! And there you have it, folks: a not-quite-dinner from hell.  
**

**Much thanks to ****Nutmeg44,**** bitemyheadoff, and shana rose for their awesome reviews since the last update!**

**If you liked this chapter, please review, and be sure to come back for the next one! =D**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Right now T is for language and suggestiveness, and in this chapter, lots of drinking.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 10, and I'd like to point out that drinking this much cannot possibly be good for you! I wonder if it belongs in a fic rated T, but I'm not quite ready to up the rating yet, so bear with it.**

**As always, please be kind and please enjoy! =)**

**

* * *

**

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 10: Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless  
_**

"Malfoy, really, where are we going?" Ginny asked as they made their way through a rather seedy-looking part of Wizarding London.

"I told you, for drinks," he replied as he led her down a cobblestone road until they reached a building that had a line of witches and wizards wrapping around the side, the entrance guarded by a purple velvet rope and quite possibly the largest wizard Ginny had ever seen, apart from Hagrid.

"Look at that line, we'll never get in!" she protested. "We should have just gone to the Leaky Cauldron."

"Only to be served second-rate swill and have your brother show up looking for you?" Malfoy muttered. "I think not. Besides, a Malfoy doesn't wait in line."

"What?" she asked incredulously, but Malfoy had already pulled out his wand and extended it to the wizard guarding the door; the tips of their wands touched, a tiny blue light flaring between them for an instant, and the massive wizard stepped aside and lifted the end of the rope from its stanchion.

"Welcome, Mr. Malfoy," he intoned solemnly. "I wish you and your guest an enjoyable evening."

"Thank you," Malfoy replied smugly as he led Ginny inside by the arm, her stammered thanks to the bouncer nearly an afterthought as she entered the nightclub.

The atmosphere within the establishment was one of chaotic liveliness at the centers of activity, the bar and the dance floor, which blurred into a mellow reclusiveness around the edges. A hostess led Malfoy and Ginny to a private booth, where they were ensconced with an air of intimacy and some measure of quiet, at least compared to the rest of the club. It was loud enough that the lively atmosphere was maintained, but Ginny was able to hear herself think and to carry on a conversation without shouting to be heard.

"I thought your family had fallen from grace," she said loudly, looking around the opulent booth in awe.

"Politically, yes, and perhaps even socially to an extent," he replied. "But money will still get you almost everywhere, and we still have plenty of that."

She snorted at his candor. "Of course you do. I suppose that when you become a nationally famous Quidditch player, the celebrity will be nothing new."

"Perhaps not new, but at least then it'll be something I'll have earned for myself," he answered, smirking at her unabashedly. She didn't think for a moment that he was ashamed of his undeserved notoriety, except perhaps that garnered by having been a Death Eater.

"And here I was under the impression that you weren't all that into throwing your family's influence around. You certainly haven't been pushing for any special favors at camp, except for the change in wardrobe."

"A mistaken impression to an extent, Weasley," he replied seriously. "I love money and power. I always have, and I always will. But I want more out of life than my parents' wealth and prestige, especially with the tarnish my father has put on the family name. It would be advantageous to make a name for myself, and throwing my parents' name around at Quidditch camp is hardly the way to accomplish that end. I really do want to get by on skill."

"You were pretty well-known at Hogwarts for your Quidditch skills," she supplied, thinking it was in the same vein of conversation, but his expression darkened marginally.

"Maybe I could have been, were it not for Potter… and my father," he replied. "I've been on a broom almost since I could walk. I was looking forward to trying out for the House team more than anything else about school, and when I finally got on, my father had to buy new racing brooms for the whole team, and Potter never let me hear the end of it, him and Granger and your brother always spouting off about how my father had bought the Seeker spot for me. It's just how my father shows support for anything, by spending money on it. It's not something everyone understands, that's all."

Ginny watched as Malfoy shrugged and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Their first round of drinks arrived, shots of firewhiskey, and Malfoy instructed the waitress to bring the bottle and leave it.

"You're right about that," she said finally, after the bottle arrived. "That not everyone understands throwing money around, I mean. Harry, Ron, and Hermione really did think you'd bought your way onto the Slytherin team. They talked about it a lot my first year. Hermione in particular took forever to let it go, because she didn't really understand Quidditch - still doesn't, actually."

Malfoy grimaced bitterly as he prodded his shot glass with a long, delicate finger.

"But you really were an incredible Seeker in school," she continued, "and you still are. I had such a horrid crush on Harry back then and I still noticed how good you were."

The grimace shifted slightly, becoming a small, pleased smile.

"Well at least somebody noticed," he drawled. "You were pretty amazing as well… and you still are. I used to think that you would have made an excellent seeker full-time, if Potter hadn't been clogging up the spot. I wish I'd had more of an opportunity to fly against you back then."

She found herself grinning at his praise, and her grin only widened as he flushed the slightest pink and changed the subject.

"Anyway, Weasley, about our drinking challenge: what are the rules?"

"Hmm…" she pondered. "What are the rules usually?"

"Usually you try to match the other person, shot for shot, until one or the other passes out or is otherwise incapacitated. But from what I've heard of your later years at Hogwarts, you already know that, I think," he smirked again, and this time it was Ginny who blushed. Yes, that was embarrassing… but those last years at Hogwarts had been rough, and the students had needed to find some way to pass the time.

"In our case though, given the circumstances of the evening and the fact that we were both forced to endure the presence of the insufferable Potter," he continued, "I think we should both just drink until we can hardly stand and have to summon the Knight Bus to take us back to the training grounds."

"Agreed!" she replied emphatically as they clinked their glasses together before they each knocked back a shot. The whiskey burned through her, leaving a trail down her throat that was pleasurably warm, and she realized that it was of a far higher quality than she'd ever had.

"Also, I think it's only fair that since I'm the one funding this non-competition," he gestured at the bottle with his empty glass as he set it down, "you should dance with me at least once. And don't go saying you can afford to split the tab, because you can't."

She found herself about to protest, but she hesitated. He was almost certainly correct that she wouldn't be able to afford it. She couldn't begin to imagine what the bottle of whiskey would cost, and living in the training dorm was a blessing because she couldn't really afford anything other than living at the Burrow. It also occurred to her that Malfoy had been nothing but friendly to her lately, though at times abrasive, and this might be an example of what he'd talked about earlier: throwing money at something he cared about.

_Only as a friend, though! _she reminded herself firmly. If he was going to go out of his way to cultivate a friendship with her, she would not ruin it by deluding herself in some romantic fantasy of being rescued from poverty by a rich boy. It occurred to her that Malfoy might want, and even deserve, to have a friendship that didn't turn out to be a means to get to his money or status, at least what was left of it, no matter how much he enjoyed those things.

"That's the Malfoy I've always known, never without terms and conditions," she said, laughing as she poured them each another shot. "Fair enough, though. And I think that dance should be now, because they're playing the latest from The Weird Sisters, and I just love them."

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he swallowed the shot and followed her onto the floor all the same, leaving the bottle in their booth along with Ginny's handbag; Malfoy assured her that the private booths had charms on them that made them quite impenetrable to anyone who wasn't meant to be there, another reason apart from the privacy and lack of media attention that he favored this particular club.

Ginny really _did_ love The Weird Sisters, and she danced with more enthusiasm than Malfoy would have expected. The floor was crowded with witches and wizards in their twenties, all writhing to a beat that pulsed loudly enough to threaten to turn their brains to mush, had the alcohol not already done so. One dance turned into two, and two into half an hour, until when Ginny pulled them from the floor at last, both she and Malfoy were sweating.

There were several trips back and forth from the dance floor to the booth, each marked by a decrease in both coordination and inhibition. The Ginny that had dated Harry would undoubtedly have cared, fretting over such displays in public, even the limited, relatively safe public of the club, but now she couldn't be bothered. She was finally out on her own, without Harry, her brothers, particularly Ron, and her parents telling her what she could and could not do. The truth was, it felt amazing.

If she was being honest with herself, being out with Malfoy felt pretty amazing, too. He had been known for his appeal with the ladies during his time at Hogwarts, even if he hadn't acted on it overly much; even in those houses that ostensibly hated all Slytherins in general and Malfoy in particular as the most Slytherin of all, it was widely agreed amongst the girls that he was one of the more attractive boys at the school. It was validating in a way Ginny never would have expected to be in the company of such a person, even if only as friends.

There had been times, when she dated Harry, that she had felt as though he was embarrassed by her, as though in some way, they were unequal. She suspected that in some way, Harry would always see her as that little girl who had followed him around like a little lost puppy, and though he had obviously recognized her as a grown woman, albeit after far too long, he would never fully accept that she was an autonomous adult. There was always that need to shelter and protect her in all the wrong ways, as though she was still eleven years old and in need of rescue from the clutches of Voldemort.

Not so with Malfoy. Perhaps it was because he, too, understood what it was to move beyond what you were as a child.

Or perhaps it was because he was completely hammered, and so was she. Who could say for sure?

What Ginny did know is that she'd never had so much fun. Harry never went to clubs, and when they had danced at formal affairs he had danced stiffly and awkwardly, in a way that made it clear that he didn't particularly enjoy showing her off.

Malfoy, on the other hand, had obviously done this kind of thing a lot, because he was quite good at it. As the night wore on and their consumption of alcohol increased, their dancing took on an almost intimate quality; at one point that she would only vaguely recall the next day, he'd pulled her against him, her back to his chest, his hands on her hips and his breath hot on her neck. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, and she liked it.

The events of the night became less clear with every shot until, at last, they decided it was time to leave before one of them really did pass out. They had stopped counting shots long ago, and neither of them was really able to stand without leaning on the other. Laughing at nothing in particular, or maybe something Malfoy had said, though she couldn't clearly remember what that was, Ginny drew her wand as they reached the street and summoned the Knight Bus. The purple monstrosity came careening out of nowhere as it was wont to do, and Malfoy only barely pulled her back in time to avoid being hit as it screeched to a halt in front of them. The inebriated duo fell to the ground, laughing as though they hadn't just narrowly escaped a terrible death as they struggled to extricate their tangled limbs.

"Quidditch training grounds," Malfoy slurred as the exasperated bus attendant asked for their destination, and after paying, he and Ginny fought the pitch and roll of the bus as it took off in maniacal fashion with a pitch and roll of their own drunken design, staggering to their seats. The Knight Bus deposited them unceremoniously at the edge of the grounds, leaving them to pick themselves up from where they fell as they disembarked, and both stumbled off toward the dorms, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist.

The doors to the dorm rooms were spelled to recognize their designated occupant and open accordingly, which Malfoy thought was rather fortunate as he was pretty sure neither of them could manage a key, a password, or even a simple unlocking spell at the moment. In their present state, they couldn't even very well make out one door from another, so they ambled along until one opened for them.

Malfoy hadn't a clue whether they'd ended up in her room or his own, as the rooms all shared the same layout and it didn't occur to either of them to turn on the light. She fell against him, laughing, and a frisson of excitement at the feeling of her body pressed against his tingled through his belly, blocked by the whiskey from reaching its destination. Her lips brushed his, whether by accident or on purpose he did not know, and he could see her eyes gleaming like liquid before his own in the darkness.

"Easy, Weasley," he breathed. "I've had a bit too much for what you've got in mind."

She giggled wildly in response, as though he'd said the funniest thing she'd ever heard, and in an instant he was laughing with her. She shushed him dramatically as though someone might hear, and they both fell silent only to burst out laughing again.

Stripping off his shirt as he made his way to the bed, he let himself fall to the mattress and pulled her with him, and everything became quite unclear after that.

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**A/N: Hoo, what now? Well, I'm not ready to smut this up, but there will be awkwardness and hangovers aplenty in the morning. Don't worry, the M rating will come eventually. Not that long off, probably... just not quite yet. =)**

**My deepest thanks to Greenstuff, Darinmeg, Dracosbaby7, Julia Tsukino, Nutmeg44, Princess Phoenix Tears, bitemyheadoff, and shana rose for their awesome reviews since the last update!**

**And I'd just like to mention that this story just got its 50th review! I am so happy about this, like, just over the moon. Thank you all so very much! =D**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Right now T is for language and suggestiveness.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 11! See? I knew drinking that much was a bad idea! Raise your hands if you want Harry to be an ass some more! Okay, you got it! As always, please be kind and please enjoy! =)**

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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 11: Show Them How It's Done  
_**

The first thing Ginny became aware of as she woke was a pounding headache, the second, the blinding rays of the morning sun streaming through the window. Though she hadn't actually opened her eyes, the light still seemed to drill through her eyelids, magnifying the pain in her head to an unbearable intensity.

Only seconds later, an uncomfortable upset in her stomach made itself known, a queasiness that demanded that she lie as still as possible for fear of provoking it. The sick feeling was not helped in the slightest by the dryness in her mouth, which was somehow sticky and cottony at the same time, and tasted quite foul. She had no choice but to remain quietly motionless, burying her face into the warm thing on which she lay in order to hide from the light…

_Wait… 'warm thing'? What on earth?_

Her face was indeed pressed against something warm and fleshy, though quite firm rather than soft, something that smelled of sweat and skin and… _Malfoy_…

"Weasley," a carefully modulated voice mumbled from beneath her, "please get off of me, but do it slowly. You're too warm, but if you shake the bed too much I may vomit."

Her eyes sprang open as she recoiled from the voice, shoving off of her unexpected bedfellow quite roughly. Through the blinding sunlight she saw that her face had been plastered to his naked back, but she hardly had time to care, for at that moment her stomach let her know exactly how unhappy it was with her sudden movement. She launched herself violently from the bed and bolted to the bathroom, not even having time to close the door before she fell to her knees and made use of the toilet.

She heard, in a vague and distant fashion, a rather foul expletive followed by the equally foul sound of someone else throwing up as well.

Her raging stomach finally quieted long after she was empty. She sat gasping next to the toilet, swearing profoundly in her head that she would never drink so much as long as she lived. Momentarily, a bleary-eyed and severely cranky-looking Malfoy staggered into the room, clad only in a pair of boxers, a very ill-used wastebasket clutched in his arm. Setting it down, he began poking through the bathroom cupboard while Ginny gagged and tried to ignore the wastebasket's horrible smell.

"Here," he said, handing her a pair of potion bottles, one green and one blue. "Green one first, wait five minutes, then the blue one, or else you'll puke the blue one up before it can do you any good."

He slid down the wall across from her and took the first step of his own advice, downing the first of a similar pair of potions. Ginny followed suit, and her stomach began to calm almost immediately.

"Why'd you have to bring _that _in here?" she asked finally, eyeing the wastebasket distastefully.

"To dump it in the toilet, obviously, except I can't tell if you're done with it yet. It's your fault anyway, Weasley, you just couldn't close the door, could you? And didn't I tell you not to shake the bloody bed?" he grumbled, his tone somewhat listless where it could have been scathing. "I meant to Vanish it, but I can't seem to find my wand at the moment. Must be somewhere in my clothes."

Ginny's eyes widened as her brain finally processed his state of undress. Boxers only, his pale skin and lean form exposed, a state in which he seemed perfectly comfortable. A downward glance informed her that she, too, had lost some clothing somewhere along the way, for she was dressed only in panties and the slip she'd worn beneath her dress. Her brassiere was conspicuously missing.

"Oh, bloody Merlin's ghost!" she cried, causing Malfoy to wince in pain and knock back the blue potion. "We didn't… we _couldn't _have…"

But… possibly they _had _done… _something_… for as she struggled to remember, she found that much of her memory of the night before was a blur or completely absent. Ginny fought against the panic that rose within her.

"No," Malfoy replied calmly, "I don't think we did."

"But you don't remember?" she asked, glaring at him sourly.

"No. I remember dancing, drinking, and you nearly being run over by the Knight Bus. I suppose anything's possible, but I'm wearing my underwear and they aren't on inside-out or backwards, so odds are at least three-to-one against that I ever took them off."

Ginny found that as he mentioned it, she could vaguely recall the Knight Bus in all its careening purple glory, honking madly as it just missed running her down.

"I remember almost everything up to the Knight Bus, but that's the end of it. And… my bra is gone," she said, flushing with embarrassment.

"So I noticed. Maybe you just didn't want to sleep in it," he replied. "Look, I'm reasonably certain we did nothing more than fall into bed and pass out. If I really thought we'd done anything more, I'd have given you a contraceptive potion as well."

"But how can you know?" she cried desperately.

"I suspect I was too drunk to manage," he said finally, "and if I'm to be completely frank, I think you'd be able to tell."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You'd be sore, Weasley," he replied, smirking at her infuriatingly. "I don't mean to brag or anything, but… you get the idea. And I'm not very tame in bed either."

Ginny felt her face reddening horribly, and she briefly wondered if there was space enough behind the toilet to crawl back there and hide. And dear Merlin, she really wished Malfoy was wearing more clothing…

"If you're really worried, you can take the potion anyway. It's the purple one on the top shelf. But I'm telling you, it didn't happen," he said with certainty. "In any case, don't forget the headache potion. And be sure to do something for the dehydration, as well."

"Oh, have you got something for that?" she asked.

"Yes, Weasley," he replied, his smirk widening. "It's called water."

"Ass," she growled, glaring as he stifled a small laugh at her expense.

She drank the blue potion and thought about the purple one in the cabinet. Yes, she'd woken up wearing far less than she could last recall, and the night before was something of a blur, but… Malfoy was right. Even if his self-aggrandizing claims were untrue, she didn't really feel as if anything had happened. As the headache potion took effect and she found some clarity, she found she could vaguely recall that he had fallen asleep before she'd even gotten her dress all the way off. So… nothing had happened. Ginny sighed in relief, both as her concerns ebbed and as the headache potion started to take effect, releasing her skull from the viselike grip of pain. Suddenly, she gasped in alarm.

"Oh, Merlin, what time is it?"

"Hm?" Malfoy muttered, reaching up to fumble for the small clock he kept on the bathroom shelf. "Oh, bollocks. We're late for practice."

xxxxx

The one advantage of being late was that there was no one left in the dorm to spot Ginny as she dashed across the hall to her own room, her dress hastily pulled on for the sake of decency and the rest of her things clutched in her arms. Once there, she had taken the briefest shower of her life, almost more of a rinse, but necessary to rid her of the smell of alcohol and sweat. After that, she'd thrown on her training uniform and grabbed her broom, not even bothering to use a drying charm on her hastily pony-tailed hair because in the flustered hurry of collecting her clothes, her wand had failed to turn up.

She arrived on the practice pitch only moments after Malfoy and took her place next to him, joining in the warm-up session as the other trainees snickered around her. Her face flamed red; she knew what it had to look like to everyone here. Hell, that's what it had looked like to _her, _at first. Nonetheless, she wasn't going to let their amusement prevent her from giving training everything she had.

"Good to see our remaining Seekers could be bothered to join us," Gwenog Jones announced as the warm-up session finished, to the great and continuing amusement of the rest of the group. "I'd come up with some punishment for you, but you both look as if you've punished yourselves more than effectively."

It was true; Malfoy was paler than usual, with dark bags under his eyes, and his hair wasn't quite in order although since it was short it had already dried. She knew from her own hurried glance in the mirror that she looked similarly awful, and furthermore, the potions they'd both taken did not manage to rid her completely of either her headache or stomach upset. Both sensations lingered faintly, not strong enough to be incapacitating but decidedly uncomfortable nevertheless. If Malfoy's occasional squinting against the sunlight or idle rub at his stomach were any indication, he felt much the same.

"Today is going to be an especially important day for you Seekers," Gwenog continued. "We've had a last-minute addition to the coaching staff; one of the star Seekers of the British-Irish Quidditch League has volunteered himself to aid in your training periodically, starting today."

Ginny had a sinking feeling, and a sideways glance at Malfoy told her that he shared her dreadful suspicion. His mouth was set in a grim line, his forehead just barely wrinkled in consternation.

"The extraordinary skills of this Seeker, in addition to the benefit of his experience in playing at a professional level, will be an immense asset to your training," Gwenog concluded. "Please welcome to the pitch… Mr. Harry Potter."

The gathered trainees burst into headache-goading applause around Ginny as Harry Potter himself strode forward from the sidelines where he'd gone unnoticed by her due to her late arrival. The dark-haired man cast her a smug glance before glaring darkly at Malfoy, though both expressions were so fleeting that they went unnoticed by the excited throng of admirers. They hadn't gone unnoticed by Malfoy, however, who was now glaring back at Harry with poisonous hatred.

"Glad to be here," Harry replied to Gwenog's welcome, practically oozing the cocky arrogance that was so often his trademark. "It's my belief that my training regimen will aid in refining your skills… and in weeding out those who don't have the ability to go all the way at a professional level."

At his last comment, Harry glanced at Malfoy again. Malfoy's grip tightened on his broom until his knuckles had gone white. To her observing eye, he was seriously angry, but he met Harry's glance with an arrogant, cocky smirk of his own.

_Talk about fighting fire with fire, _Ginny thought, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She had a feeling this was going to get ugly… but she knew she wanted Malfoy to come out on top. Harry was just meddling in her life way too much. She had no doubts that he was there because of the previous night's incident.

The trainees divided by class, the other Seekers hurrying over to Harry while Ginny and Malfoy reluctantly brought up the rear. She listened tiredly as Harry gave what the others took for a rallying speech about how Seekers are born, not made, about how it was in the blood, _blah, blah, blah,_ his words blurring into a droning noise that seemed to bore into her head. It wasn't anything she hadn't heard from him on a dozen other occasions; he's been recycling the same tired lines since he'd been captain of the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts.

"Why don't you demonstrate, Ginny?" Harry asked suddenly. "I'd be happy to offer criticism and refine your technique."

"What?" she asked blankly, for she'd been tuning Harry out for the past few minutes.

"Weren't you listening?" Harry blinked, surprised at her indifference.

"Not really, no. I'm a bit tired, actually," she answered honestly, with no malice in her voice. The other Seekers tittered at her response.

"Rough night?" Harry growled with growing irritation and another angry glance at Malfoy, whose expression betrayed nothing. "Well, I'm afraid I can't make exceptions for your irresponsibility just because we used to date."

Ginny felt herself go red in the face. How dare he say such a thing? She was just about to tell him as much, her potential Quidditch career be damned, when Malfoy spoke up.

"Come off it, Potter," he drawled. "It's not her fault that her dinner didn't sit well. If you're that desperate to have someone show you how to do a Wronski Feint, I'll do it."

"Oh yeah? Well why don't you show us, then? I could use a laugh," Harry replied.

"No," Ginny interrupted the exchange. "I'll do it. I only didn't hear what you asked. It's not as if I can't do it."

"Show us what you've got, Weasley," Malfoy said, his tone reserved but his smirk encouraging. She offered him a small smile, her grip tightening on her broom.

At Harry's begrudging nod, she took to the air. Hovering above the other Seekers, she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she had the image of a Quidditch match in full play fixed in her mind. She imagined the constant movement, the ever-changing, barely ordered chaos that was the game, visualized an imaginary Seeker, her opponent…

Then, she was diving, the ground rushing to meet her at a terrifying pace as she pursued a Snitch that was imaginary even to her imaginary scenario. She pulled up hard, turning away from the ground in a heart-stopping instant during which she could see individual blades of grass as they rippled in her wake, and then she was headed skyward once more.

As she returned to a normal speed, the maneuver complete, she returned to the ground and dismounted. She was greeted at first by stunned silence, and then by uproarious cheering from her fellow Seekers and, to her surprise, from other players all across the pitch. Even Gwenog Jones was applauding from her vantage point with the Beaters.

Malfoy watched silently, giving her a satisfied smile.

"Couldn't have done it better myself," he murmured for only her to hear once she was close enough.

"Er… yes, well, that's the Wronski Feint," Harry stated, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Now, while it was quite well executed, there were some flaws to which we could call attention. The descent lacked follow-through, so it can't be assured that the opponent would actually crash…"

"Are you joking?" Malfoy called out, looking rather irritated. "_I _couldn't have pulled out of that drop in time. Neither could _you._"

Ginny felt rather disgusted with Harry, but as she looked around the group, she noticed that the other Seekers were all eyeing the dark-haired man with nervous uncertainty. It seemed they didn't believe her Wronski Feint had been flawed, either, but were unwilling to challenge Harry directly.

"Yes, well… be that as it may…" Harry cleared his throat, obviously aware of the eyes that were upon him. "Let's move on with the lesson. Divide into pairs and practice, one observing and critiquing while the other performs the maneuver, and trading off. And no actual crashing, please."

The day wore on as Harry corrected form and timing, neither of which Ginny much needed, but Harry kept at it with her particularly. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy needed little correction either, but that didn't stop Harry from occasionally sniping at his old school rival. Though Malfoy's exterior remained collected, Ginny could tell he was beginning to feel frazzled by the end of the day.

"Honestly," he grumbled when they hovered near each other for a moment, Harry having just delivered yet another unfounded criticism, "it's not as if someone can be expected to be perfect all the time."

"Says the person who hasn't made an actual mistake all day," Ginny pointed out. "Don't let him get to you. You're a cocky bastard, remember?"

"Too right, Weasley," he replied, flashing her a grin.

Later, as everyone was packing it in for the day, Oliver Wood came over to Ginny and congratulated her on her performance. Malfoy lingered a short distance away, waiting for her to catch up.

"Shades of Charlie Weasley," he was telling her enthusiastically, when Harry approached them.

"I'd like a moment with Ginny if that's alright," Harry said to Oliver, who nodded.

"I've got some details to go over with Jones, anyway," Oliver said, excusing himself. "Great flying today, Ginny."

"Thank you, Oliver," she replied, smiling. Her smile vanished as she turned to Harry, unhappy that he'd managed to ambush her into a conversation. "What is it, Harry?"

"I want to know exactly what you think you're doing, trying out for Quidditch," he replied.

"Excuse me?" she replied, uncertain what he meant by such a thing.

From where he was watching, Malfoy registered the tension visible in Ginny's frame with mounting irritation. Whatever Potter was saying, his words weren't being received well. He sidled closer, intent on hearing what was being said. Never mind _why _he was interested; that question could wait until later.

"I mean," Harry stated, his tone blunt, "that trying out for Quidditch just to get my attention makes you seem a bit desperate."

Ginny gaped at him. He really thought this was all about him?

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you've got my attention now, so you can drop the act," he continued. "Really, you as a professional Seeker is just silly. Now, if you want, I might be able to get Oliver to put you on the Puddlemere United team as a reserve Chaser. That suits you better, don't you think?"

"Hey, Weasley," Malfoy called as he sauntered over, having heard the whole thing. "Oh, am I interrupting something, Potter? I just had something to tell Weasley, you see."

"Well, get on with it," Harry snapped, "and go away."

"I just thought you'd like to know that I found your wand," he said to Ginny.

"Oh? Where was it?" she asked distractedly, still blindsided by what Harry had said to her.

"It was under my bed," Malfoy replied as he fixed Harry with a pointed stare, his smirk dripping with malice for Ginny's ex-boyfriend. "I suppose it rolled under there last night."

Now it was Harry's turn to gape, spluttering in a way that Ginny had until that moment thought only Ron was able.

"Oh, thank you, Malfoy," she said calmly, her rage at Harry seeming to flow away. "I'll just go with you to get it from your room then, shall I?"

She turned to Harry.

"Just so you know, Harry, my trying out for Quidditch has _nothing_ to do with you. And I like being a Seeker just fine."

Ginny walked away, not looking back even once. She didn't need to look back to know that Malfoy was right behind her; she knew that he was there, and that knowledge made her walk just a little taller as she left the training pitch.

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**A/N: No, Malfoy's not territorial at aaaallll... yes he is! And I love it. =P**

**My thanks to darinmeg, shana rose, Nutmeg44, and Princess Phoenix Tears for their awesome reviews since last time! If you liked this chapter (or any other chapter, for that matter), please show your love and review! =D  
**


	12. Interlude I, Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Right now T is for language and occasional suggestiveness.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
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**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter 12, and a bonus interlude. I almost never write in the first person, but George compels me to do the strangest things. Anyway, the first person perspective is confined to the interlude only, not the whole of the chapter, and overall this update is a little longer than usual to make up for it.**

**I'd also like to say, in response to concerns that I'm bashing Harry, it is not my intent to bash him with this fic. Rather, the perspectives from which I am writing are Draco-as-rival and Ginny-as-ex-girlfriend, and as such their perceptions of Harry are not always favorable (in Draco's case, almost never). This is just Harry from their point of view. However, I've included several viewpoints in this chapter in the hopes that it will add depth to the conflict of the story, and make clear that Harry is written in this story as he is for very good, plot-supported reasons, and that writing him this way is just well-intentioned fun rather than crossing a line into unwarranted bashing.  
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**Thank you for reading, and please enjoy!  
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**The Name of the Game**

_**Interlude I**_

Why hello there, Fred.

I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing at the Quidditch training grounds, moving about in a manner that would suggest I don't wish to be spotted. You might guess that I'm here to play some prank on Ginny's competition, slip them some Puking Pastilles or some such thing, or that I think our sister can't handle herself and needs me to look out after her.

You couldn't be more wrong.

I'm here to spy, all right, but it's because of something I heard about from Ron last night. You see, our sister has a _nouveau amour. _At least, I think that's right. My French remains quite terrible, despite Fleur's patient efforts to teach me when she and Bill are visiting. She's turned out to be quite a bit of all right, that one. Who would have guessed?

Ron was on about last night's incident as soon as he got in. I honestly thought his anger might take physical form and spew out of him all over the kitchen table in a vitriolic mess. Mum even had to Scourgify his mouth at one point. Apparently, dinner with Ginny was quite a scene.

She brought Malfoy as her date, you see, but Ron had already brought Harry for her.

I'm quite sorry I missed it.

Anyway, the point is that love is in the air - possibly - and I'm going to get the dirt on the pair of them if it kills me. Which Ginny may very well do, if she catches me sneaking around like this. It's not that I want to see you again so soon, but…

What? No, of course I'm not going to blackmail them or harass them or anything! She's our _sister! _But it sounds like something we would do, you say? Well, I wouldn't want to be our sister then, would I? No, no nefarious scheming here. I just want to know. Because it's in my _nature _to want to know, that's why! But of course, you already know that.

Perhaps I should just _ask? _Really, Fred, death has matured you. How _boring._

Besides, how can she give me an answer that she doesn't know herself? That girl hasn't had her head on straight where a man is concerned since… well, never that I'm aware of. I love her dearly, but it's the truth. She wouldn't give me a straight answer anyway, even if she knew one.

Besides again, I _love _sneaking.

Besides, a third time, I've already gleaned loads of information that she would never tell me otherwise.

She doesn't know that when she flies, he has a hard time keeping his eyes out for the Snitch, if you know what I mean. He's always watching her. He hides it carefully, though; to her, and to everyone else here, he never appears less than a skilled, focused, dedicated Seeker. I really think he's giving it everything he has, even while he can't help but look at her; he still gets to the Snitch as many times as she does.

When they're on the ground, it's the same story, with no Snitch. Malfoy is the type of bloke who's never walked behind anybody else in his life, except maybe his own parents. He's always been first, usually with a pair of hulking oafs just behind him, all the way through school. Not so with my dear sister Ginny. He walks beside her, really just slightly behind, at such an angle that he can always look at her and she won't catch him at it.

I was wondering about this myself, until Harry stepped out on the field. Harry… I don't know how I feel about him, honestly. He's always been a pretty good kid, and he certainly didn't do my sister any wrong, but… he doesn't know when to quit. Love is love, and not-love is… not. It's just that simple, and just that complicated.

Where was I? Oh, right. When Harry walked out onto the pitch, Malfoy just seemed to tense up all over. No surprises there. They've always hated each other. But then… he took a half-step closer to Ginny. Just a little half-step, but it left him standing just behind her shoulder, hovering right there in her personal space, which you know she hates, growing up as crowded as we did. But here's the funny thing: she didn't get mad. She didn't look at him, she didn't give the slightest indication that she knew he was there… except, she smiled. Just one tiny, crooked little smile, almost the spitting image of the smirk he always wears, right there on my sister's face. I don't even know if she was even aware of it herself.

And then it hit me: he was protecting her, just by being there. And she _knew, _well, that he was there, at least, if not what it means_._ And she was _letting him do it!_

You know how Ginny is, Fred. This is absolutely mind-boggling. They've obviously grown quite close. It's rather surprising on Malfoy's end too, really. I doubt that he even knows what to do with himself anymore where she's concerned.

Oh, and speaking of what he's doing with himself, I also know Ginny slept in his room last night. Naughty Ginny, what would Mum say?

How do I know this? I greased a house elf serving in the dorm to tell me. Oh, I know what you'll say: that house elves can't be bribed, that their loyalty is absolute, that they're bound by magic and by nature not to reveal such things to the likes of myself.

Well, I've discovered differently. Your twin has learned a few new tricks since you've been gone, Fred.

House elves are far less bound than the wizards who employ them would like to believe. They have ways around their bonds if they really want to use them. The ones working in dormitories and such aren't trained to be quite so tight-lipped as those serving private residences either - please, do not ask me how I know this! All one has to do is find the elf with the gossipy nature. There's always one in places like these. And like every creature, they have their price.

What would I use to buy a house elf's confidences?

I'll never tell.

And Ginny will never tell, either, I'm sure. If I asked her where she was last night, she'd probably give me some story about how they were drunk but nothing happened, or how he needed some bruise-mending cream rubbed onto his back. As if I'd believe a word of that rubbish!

Ah! They're leaving for the dorm! Malfoy's in step right behind her, Harry's glaring daggers over something that was said, shame I didn't catch what it was, and Ginny… Ginny's looking smug, and proud, in a way I haven't seen her look in ages.

It's good to see that again.

If I hurry, maybe I can sneak into the dorm, where I'll… hell, you know I don't have a plan! I'll just go and see what happens, sneaky-sneaking oh-so-sneakily! But wait… someone's coming…

"George! I didn't know you'd be here today!"

BOLLOCKS! It's Oliver Wood! I've been caught, but it's not over yet. I can still save this!

"Well, if it isn't Oliver Wood! How have you been, mate?"

Yes, playing the innocent card is surely the way to go. I'm giving him my most jovial grin… wait… I think it's done me in. He looks suspicious now.

"Geooooorge…" he drawls.

"Wooooooood," I drawl back. You know how distracted he gets when people use his last name suggestively.

"These are closed practices, George."

Crap! He's not falling for it, Fred! I've been made! I guess he's gotten over that name thing. Well, it _has _been a while.

"You wouldn't, by any chance, be keeping an eye on your sister and a certain _Malfoy, _would you, George?"

This time, I'm grinning sheepishly. It's not a calculated manipulation or anything; I've always had this reaction when our old Gryffindor captain caught me at something I wasn't supposed to be doing. He's got a face that's difficult to lie to, you know that. Not impossible, just difficult… and it's hard to be mad at him for catching you, either.

"Come along then." He's smiling now, a good sign, because as you undoubtedly remember Oliver's a bit temperamental. "I have visitor privileges."

Score. I am _so _in.

If you'll excuse me, Fred, I have some sneaking to do. Not that you aren't good company, but…

It's good to have company that talks back.

* * *

_**Chapter 12: Skewed Perspectives**_

"Honestly, Ron, what were you expecting?" Hermione asked in consternation as she finished the note she was penning. "That Ginny would never find someone and she'd just go crawling back to Harry? This was bound to happen sooner or later."

"You think Ginny's _really _dating Malfoy?" Ron replied with a disgusted grimace. "Don't even _joke, _'Mione. That's a wretched thought. She was only doing it to get back at me."

"Well, what if she was? Dating him, I mean. Would it be so horrible if it meant that your sister was happy?"

"Of course it would be horrible, it's _Malfoy!_" he growled. "Ginny couldn't be happy with that git in a million years. Harry would be better for her."

"Well… really, I don't think they're going out, at least not yet…" Hermione conceded. "But perhaps you oughtn't egg Harry on so much. Ginny's not the sort to appreciate meddling, no matter how well-intentioned it may be."

"That's rich, coming from you. You're not exactly the least meddlesome person I've ever known," Ron snorted. "I'm her brother. Meddling is my job when it comes to dating. Especially when its someone who's bad for her!"

"But you don't _know _that, Ron!" Hermione cried, exasperated. "It's been years, and Malfoy never even did half of the evil things you and Harry attributed to him over the years. Perhaps he's changed."

"People don't just change, not without reason."

"Overcoming an upbringing as a Death Eater isn't a reason to change?" she countered.

"It's a reason not to let him date my sister, that's for sure," Ron replied.

"But when all is said and done, it'll be Ginny's decision. You have to know that," Hermione said sensibly.

"As long as she decides on Harry, it'll be fine. And she will, you'll see. She'll see reason eventually," Ron stated confidently. "Merlin only knows why she left him to begin with. Bloody mental, if you ask me."

"She had her reasons," she replied vaguely.

"Yeah? What's that supposed to mean?" Ron muttered. "That this is somehow Harry's fault?"

Hermione sighed, her thoughts turning to the ambiguity between Ron and herself as they often did in conversations about Ginny and Harry.

"No, I don't think either of them is at fault. It's just that… a woman can't wait forever for someone to become the man she needs him to be."

xxxxx

_Ginny,_

_I was only just about to owl you when Ron showed up at my apartment. We've talked a bit, or rather he ranted at me for a bit, and there are some things I think you should know. Don't worry about him spotting me writing this - he's busy raiding my cupboards for food at the moment._

_It seems that in addition to inviting Harry to dinner last night, your brother has been encouraging him to pursue you and insisting that you're just going through some "bloody mental woman thing" from which you'll eventually come around. It's rather difficult to make out all the details as he's been quite loud and not entirely understandable, but I do believe he's been giving Harry the impression that you're still in love with him. Merlin knows I don't want to make you any angrier at Ron, but it goes a long way toward explaining why Harry won't let go._

_Ron also told me that Harry's volunteering to train Seekers at your Quidditch camp, something about "finding out what that slimy git Malfoy is up to." Ron's words, not mine, and there's no telling what Harry actually said on the subject. Perhaps I'll ask him later. But honestly, Ginny, I don't envy you the mess this is going to cause._

_I'm here if you need me._

_Love, Hermione._

Ginny sighed as she read over Hermione's note once more. It had been waiting for her since she got back to her dorm room, intent on showering before meeting with Malfoy again for dinner. It was a comfortable habit that she was glad wasn't going to be affected by their awkward morning.

Harry was going to be a problem, by the look of it. Hermione's letter at least shed some light on where he was coming from. She'd probably have to have a serious talk with him since he clearly wasn't going to take the hints she'd been dropping… but what was there to say that hadn't already been hashed out time and again, both during their breakup and since? She wasn't certain she could even get through to him, especially in light of what her brother had been telling him. Harry wasn't the most receptive person once he got a particular idea set in mind.

The problem was that when Harry got attached to someone, it was forever. In and of itself, it was an admirable quality; with Harry, friendships were permanent, and their relationship had been built on friendship. It wasn't until she had discovered his plans to propose to her that she had realized that permanence was not what she wanted, at least not with him. It was terribly unfair, and a betrayal, both of which she'd been reminded over and over again in the numerous arguments that had followed her ending it.

Neither of those things changed how she felt. Harry was like a son to her parents, like a sibling to her brothers, and, in many ways, like a brother to her. It was difficult to picture having a marriage and a family with him, or really, with anyone at this point in her life, but she couldn't deny that the prospect of marriage to Harry was distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn't that Harry wanted her to enter into a marriage that she didn't want, but rather, that he didn't understand how it could be possible that she didn't want it.

Malfoy's involvement was probably only adding fuel to the fire, loathe as she was to admit it. If Harry's friendships were forever, then his rivalries weren't far behind. He was capable of forgiveness, of course, but it usually helped when the object of his wrath was at enough of a disadvantage to trigger his sympathetic nature. Ginny doubted very much that Harry's charity extended to an individual he perceived as making a move on his girl, especially not when that individual was none other than Draco Malfoy.

There was nothing for it, she decided as she set the note aside and headed to the shower. She had never meant to use Malfoy as a means of getting back at Harry; there had been no need for getting back at him, after all, at least not until his rudeness today, and for that he'd been perhaps a little more than justly compensated. What had started out as revenge against her brother had turned into something else completely when Harry had shown up at dinner, and there really wasn't any way to take it back.

Harry could be offended if he had to be, but if Ginny took it back, it would mean denouncing Malfoy as her friend. Not only was she unwilling to do such a thing now that her brother, and therefore her entire family, knew about their involvement, which would involve sacrificing a tremendous amount of her pride in the process, she was also unwilling to put her friendship with Malfoy in peril.

It had become too important to lose.

She would have to talk with Harry about all of this, and sooner rather than later, but would he even hear her?

xxxxx

Harry gritted his teeth as he threw the door to his apartment closed behind him. He'd opted not to stay at the training dorm, which really only needed Gwenog and Oliver for administrative purposes, because he'd felt that being in such close proximity to Ginny for every hour of the day and night might be seen as coming on too strongly, which he'd still managed to do today…

_Damn! _If only he'd kept better control of his mouth, but he'd let himself get carried away, and Ginny was not given to responding favorably to pressure. She would never crack, but would lash out instead, and indeed she had. And then, of course, Malfoy had somehow managed to involve himself again as well. What had he meant by that crack about finding her wand under his bed, anyway? It couldn't mean what it sounded like, because Ginny had taken it in stride, and she did not enjoy having her dirty laundry aired publicly.

But… how well did Harry know Ginny, really? A year ago, he would never have believed for a moment that she'd leave him. He hadn't even known she was dissatisfied. Ron had told him repeatedly that it was just some phase she was going through, but what if it wasn't? What if she was really the type of girl who wanted to get drunk with someone like Malfoy and have a night of meaningless…

No, he wouldn't let himself think that. He believed they were meant for each other. He really did. And Malfoy was getting in the way. Harry had just about driven himself crazy trying to figure out what Malfoy wanted with Ginny, what angle he was trying to play, but it just didn't add up. Clearly Harry was missing something, and he was going to see for himself what it was.

He couldn't lose Ginny to someone like Malfoy.

xxxxx

_Merlin, Potter pisses me off,_ Malfoy hissed inwardly after he parted ways with Ginny in the hall. Now that she was gone, he had begun to stew over the day's events. The nerve of that prat! 'Chosen One' or not, he wasn't entitled to say such things to the Weaslette, regardless of their history. Or did their history together make it even worse? Somehow, Malfoy suspected that he'd have found such remarks more tolerable had they been made by anyone else.

Was that why he'd felt the need to step in? He knew that Weasley was more than capable of defending herself, and yet… it was as though he was compelled. Acting on her behalf at dinner had been as much for himself; it was a point of pride, after all, to show up Potter, wasn't it? In the past, it would have just been an opportunity to get on Potter's nerves, yet when Malfoy had entered the restaurant and saw that Potter was already there and clearly meant to be the Weaslette's date, a part of him had felt like it was going to snap. He had been that angry, even though one look at her face told him that this was not part of some plot against him, at least not on her part. He'd realized immediately it was the result of her brother's meddling.

Worse, and by far the more confusing emotion, a part of him had wanted to crawl away and hide with his tail between his legs. Why should he feel such a thing, when it was all too clear to him that he and Weasley were the wronged parties? Yet seeing Potter sitting across from her at that table had felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, and underneath his anger and irritation had been a nagging and uncomfortable worry: what if Weasley had decided she _wanted _Potter there?

It was absurd, wasn't it? The very idea that she would prefer Potter over him… only, didn't everyone? Wasn't that how it had always been? His first year at Hogwarts had been something he'd looked forward to all his young life; it was to be a year of making friends and building connections that would serve his ends throughout his life, and even more so it was to be about finding what happiness lay beyond the still, suffocating chill of the Manor and escaping from the specter of whatever grim secrets his parents kept hidden, as well as those that were known to him. Yet from the very first, he had been cast as the villain to Harry Potter's heroism.

He had always been a bit of a schemer, to be sure; even as a child it was in his nature, but very seldom had he done anything that was actually _bad. _Much of what was attributed to him and his family was done by his father, at his behest, or on his behalf. _'Harry Potter will be in your year, if he attends Hogwarts,' _his father had reminded him constantly in the months before he'd left for school. _'You will befriend him, for our family's reputation.'_ Then, once Potter had so thoroughly rebuffed him as a result of his mocking that other Weasley, a miscalculation for which he would be put through endless difficulties, his father's directive had changed. _'You will show Harry Potter what it means to refuse a Malfoy.'_

The blame couldn't be laid entirely at his father's feet. As a child, little shit that he'd been at the time, he'd been all too willing to pay Potter back in spades for the slight, and his father's words had only given him permission. Nor would it have made much difference if Potter _had _befriended him. His father was still a servant to the Dark Lord, and that current would have swept them all away just the same even with the friendship of The Boy Who Lived… probably. Who could say for certain? And at any rate, his decisions had been his own, no matter the considerable duress under which he was placed. He simply hadn't the courage to stand up under such pressure. He wondered, had it been Potter who was forced to choose between committing acts of evil and losing his parents… but that choice had never been in Potter's hands.

Still… the idea that the Weasley girl might be swayed by Potter once more was a singularly unpleasant one. It hit him in a place he had never known he had, and therefore had never guarded; he was strangely vulnerable, and that was unacceptable. So, when Potter had appeared at dinner, and confronted the Weaslette today, Malfoy had intervened. Surely that was all it was, protecting one's weaknesses.

But when had Weasley become a weakness?

Regardless, the fact remained that he could not afford to allow Potter to gain so much as an inch of ground where she was concerned.

As Malfoy hesitated outside of his room, lost in thought and unaware of his surroundings, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and clamped down with an iron grip, a sinister voice hissing unpleasantly in his ear.

"Well, well… if it isn't Draco Malfoy."

* * *

**A/N:Uh-oh, suspense...  
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**My thanks to Nutmeg44, Greenstuff, HJaneGranger, Princess Phoenix Tears, onebaddesire, shana rose, hannaht24, and Lost Enchanter for reviewing, and to all of my readers for reading. If you like this chapter, please review and show your love! =)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Right now T is for occasional language and suggestiveness.  
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**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
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**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Please note that all credit for the marvelous book _The Cat in the Hat _belongs to the fabulous Dr. Seuss. Also, I really hope this reference hasn't been done before, but if it has I haven't seen it, so no stealing is intended. Please be kind and please enjoy! =)  
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* * *

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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 13: The Prerogatives of an Elder Brother  
_**

"Draco Malfoy," the sinister voice hissed as the tightly gripping hand on his shoulder spun him around, bringing him face to face with George Weasley, who was making a very strange face indeed. Contorted and fiendish, it resembled a Muggle Halloween mask, and a fairly good one at that.

Malfoy almost screamed. Almost. His throat clenched shut on the sound in time to reduce it to the cowardly squeak he'd uttered on more than one shameful occasion at Hogwarts.

"There's a good little ferret," George continued, his monstrous grimace shifting to a mischievously delighted grin. "Now, what exactly is going on between you and my sister?"

"I… er… I have no idea to what you are referring," Malfoy hedged as he regained his composure, his instincts for self-preservation kicking in. While he didn't think the Weasley twin was as inclined to commit murder as, say, his brother Ron might be, Malfoy didn't think it was wise to take chances. One never could tell with Weasleys. They could be surprising.

The Weaslette, most of all. He pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time to be thinking of her like that, in the middle of a confrontation with her brother. For all he knew, George would be able to smell it on him, or at least, that was the way the expression on the older man's face made it seem. Yes, there was a threat there, the threat of untold possibilities that ranged from spending a very unpleasant day on the toilet to ending up an unidentified corpse in a Muggle morgue.

Probably not that last. Probably closer to the first option. Malfoy could only hope.

"Now don't lie, Draco," George coaxed, his leer boring into Malfoy and making him feel quite unsettled. "I happen to know for a fact that the two of you spent the night together. I haven't a clue what morals were promoted in Slytherin - not many, I suspect - but I shouldn't like to think of anyone doing something… _dishonorable… _to my one and only, very most precious sister. Now what do you suppose might count as _dishonorable, _hmm?"

"Erm…" Malfoy stalled awkwardly. Memories of exactly what Fred and George had been capable of in their Hogwarts days were flashing before his very eyes, and he had no reason to believe that George alone would be much more tame than his many and varied recollections.

"Let me assist you, Draco," George murmured, his voice softly sinister. "Do you suppose shagging might make the list?"

"… Yes?" Malfoy answered hesitantly.

"You always were bright. And what, do you suppose, is included under the heading of 'shagging'?"

Malfoy was, by this time, practically goggling at George, and his mouth was a bit too dry to answer.

"Allow me to enlighten you, for your own sake. 'Shagging' in this case includes, but is not limited to, putting _anything _in _any _part of my sister, touching her or being touched by her in any place normally covered by clothing in decent company, or snogging excessively, by which I mean, of course, use of the tongue."

"R-right…" Malfoy stammered, wanting nothing more than for the encounter to end. It was rapidly becoming more embarrassing than the time his father had summoned him to his study when he was thirteen, and had proceeded to explain in mortifying detail the facts of life, and at this point, he was willing to agree to just about anything to get it over with. That disconcerting grin plastered on the twin's face was going to haunt his dreams.

"Other activities that would count as _dishonorable _include getting her drunk, dancing too close, and making her pay for dates. Have you done any of these?" George asked, pinning Malfoy with a hard stare.

Malfoy swallowed roughly. His skill in Occlumency would be of no help to him now, for George was no Legilimens. He was reading him, alright, but not magically, and Malfoy knew that there were certain physical tells when a person lied that couldn't be completely suppressed without extensive training and practice. In truth, he'd slacked on this practice considerably in the years since the war, and George was as wily as ever.

He would know if Malfoy lied.

That left only one option, unpleasant though it was.

"Yes," he admitted, forcing himself not to cringe as George's eyes gleamed.

"Which, specifically?" the redhead demanded.

"I got her drunk last night. There was very close dancing involved at multiple points in the evening, and she spent the night in my company, though nothing inappropriate occurred."

"Now, that won't do at all," the twin said, clucking his tongue chidingly and slipping his arm around Malfoy's shoulders rather creepily. "Whatever shall I do with this information?"

"George! Where the hell have you been?" Oliver Wood shouted, having just arrived in the hall. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Oh, there you are, Oliver. I've just been chatting with young Malfoy here," George replied innocently.

"Has he been threatening you?" Oliver asked Malfoy suspiciously, watching carefully as the blonde's eyes flicked to George.

"… No," he answered at last, to George's approving nod.

"Of course I haven't," George added. "We're just talking about Ginny. And how precious she is to me. And how it's so important for her to be treated respectably. _Isn't that right, Draco?_"

"… Yes," Malfoy affirmed, the twin's grip digging into his shoulder.

"Well, let him go shower so he won't stink up the dining hall," Oliver said, seeing the situation for exactly what it was. Thankfully, George complied, turning to Malfoy for a last word.

"Really, mate, I'm only joking with you. Just treat her properly and keep being her friend. She really seems to like you," he said, his face a portrait of friendliness. "Of course, it isn't strictly necessary that you tell her about our little chat. In fact, it's probably best that you don't."

"Er… thanks," Malfoy replied dubiously as he turned to leave. Something told him that there had been more than a little serious intent in George's lecture.

"Oh, and Draco?" George's voice caught him just as he was about to disappear into his dorm room.

George's unsettling grin returned.

"_Not without a wedding ring_. Understand?"

Malfoy bolted into his room and slammed the door.

"That wasn't very nice, George," Oliver sighed. "I think he really likes your sister, and you scared the hell out of him. I thought he was going to wet himself."

"Not even close," George said knowingly. Oliver rolled his eyes, not wanting to know how many times George had induced that particular occurrence.

"Where in the name of Merlin did you come up with that speech?"

"Oh, you heard all that?" George asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I was around the corner for most of it. Figured I'd let you make your point before I put a stop to it," Oliver admitted. "Ginny's almost like a little sister to me too, you know."

"You're a good man, Oliver," George said, grinning happily. "It's the same speech my dad gave Harry when he and Ginny started dating. If you think it's scary hearing that from _me…_"

"I can't imagine," Oliver replied, the image of the normally docile Arthur Weasley flitting through his mind. "Come on, then. Let's go see what's for dinner."

xxxxx

After both had cleaned up, Ginny and Malfoy had met up in the dining hall and collected their dinner, though Ginny thought Malfoy seemed rather more on edge than usual. They were in the process of finding a vacant table when Ginny caught sight of a very familiar redheaded man crouching behind one of the waste bins and looking very much as though he was trying not to be seen.

"George?" she called out, making her way over with Malfoy following behind at a slower pace, the blonde feeling more than a little hesitant to encounter George Weasley again. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Why _hello, _Gin!" George replied with overly exaggerated cheer as he rose from behind the trash receptacle and leaned on it casually. "Fancy running into you here. I'm just… visiting. Yes. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"I suppose not, but… are you sure you're supposed to be here? This is a closed dormitory and I don't want to be seen as receiving special favors," she said, giving her brother a skeptical look.

"It's all just fine," George answered in a voice that she'd long ago learned meant he was up to something. "You won't mind if I eat with you and Malfoy, will you? Of _course _you won't…"

Malfoy paled rather noticeably, but since her back was turned, Ginny missed it. George did not, and he smirked meaningfully at the blonde.

"Come on, Thing Two," Oliver growled, appearing behind George and grabbing him by the elbow. "You're eating with me so you can't cause trouble."

Ginny shrugged indifferently as Oliver dragged George away. She and Malfoy found a table and took their seats with a scrape of chair legs and a clatter of trays.

"'Thing Two'? What's that about?" Malfoy asked curiously.

"Oh, that? No, I suppose you wouldn't know. It's a reference to a Muggle children's book called _The Cat in the Hat_," Ginny said as

"Why would a cat be inside of a hat?" he asked again, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"No, silly, the cat's _wearing _the hat," she laughed.

"You're telling me about a cat wearing a hat, and _I'm _silly?"

"It's just a story," she replied. "It's about a cat wearing a hat that comes to visit some children while their parents are away. He causes all sorts of problems and makes an enormous mess, but in the end he cleans it all up with a bizarre mechanical contraption. Thing One and Thing Two are a pair of creatures released by the cat who wreak havoc everywhere they go. So you can see they're quite a bit like Fred and George were. Come to think of it, I'm rather worried about the looks he's been giving Oliver. I do hope George isn't planning on making him the new Thing One. I don't think I could handle the chaos they'd cause."

"It sounds disturbing. The story, I mean, not your brother and Wood, although that wouldn't bode well, either."

"You sound just like the fish," she giggled.

"The what?" he asked dubiously. He had the idea he might not want to know.

"You see, the children are left in the care of their pet fish, an unimaginative creature who dislikes anything less structured than the boring confines of his own bowl. He's the dour counterpart to the cat."

"Did you just call me dour and unimaginative?" Malfoy frowned slightly.

"Maybe, but don't take it so seriously. Anyway," she continued, "it's ostensibly a story about imagination, but my dad told me that some wizarding scholars believe it may represent evidence of meddling in the Muggle world by a partially transfigured Animagus, or someone transformed improperly by a Polyjuice potion, because the cat in the story looks rather like a person. They say the mysterious machine the cat uses could be a magical device, or some kind of metaphor for magic, like a really powerful cleaning spell or something… or it could simply be an example of Muggles relying on their technology to fix their problems."

"Transformed improperly? You mean like if they put animal hair in the potion or something?" Malfoy asked, his eyes widening at the thought.

"Well, it's been known to happen. Actually…" Ginny glanced around conspiratorially. "It happened to Hermione in her second year."

"What? Seriously?" Malfoy spluttered, nearly choking on his food.

"Yeah, well, she meant to turn into Millicent Bulstrode, but got hair from the girl's cat by mistake. Ron told me that she had a great big cat face and hair all over."

"Merlin, that's hilarious! I didn't think Granger ever messed up anything!" Malfoy howled. "But why would anyone want to turn into Millicent? She was rather portly if I remember and she always made a face like she was smelling something bad."

"That's mean!" she cried, slapping playfully at his arm as he took a bite of dinner.

"I don't mean it that way," he replied after swallowing. "That's just the way she looked. Though her personality was off-putting as well. I can't imagine what Granger thought she was doing."

"Well…" Ginny began hesitantly. "She, Harry, and Ron had gotten it in their heads that you were the Heir of Slytherin and they were all going to infiltrate the Slytherin common room, only Hermione couldn't go on account of the cat-face."

"Really? Oh, so that time I saw Goyle wearing glasses… you know, I didn't think he was a big reader or anything," Malfoy replied with a laugh. "But Potter must have been disappointed. I wasn't the Heir, and I didn't open the Chamber."

"No, that was me," Ginny replied, "courtesy of your father. He slipped a diary into my things that turned out to be Voldemort's horcrux. Well, one of them."

Malfoy's fork froze halfway to his mouth as discomfort washed over him.

"I… I didn't know about that. I heard you were taken into the Chamber by Riddle, but the how of it wasn't exactly clear," he murmured softly after a moment's pause. "Your father's office raided the Manor almost constantly that summer, but I didn't really understand why."

"Well, you would have been, what, twelve at the time? I doubt very much that your father would have trusted you with a secret like that back then," she replied casually. "You were a pompous little braggart."

"I was, wasn't I?" he said, a weak smile briefly crossing his face.

"The diary possessed me. You could say that I was sort of Tom Riddle's girl that year," she added in an attempt at humor.

"That is… _such _an incredibly creepy way of putting it," Malfoy replied slowly, unable to suppress a shudder. "He lived at the Manor for a year, you know, on and off. The Dark Lord," he added unnecessarily. "It was truly horrifying. Imagine living every waking moment knowing you're under the same roof as that, and knowing, _seeing _the things he was capable of. The Manor is huge, but there isn't a house big enough. People have asked me since how I could sleep at night, having taken the Mark, and do you know what the answer is?"

Ginny waited expectantly for him to speak again.

"The answer is, I didn't. I mean, here and there, yes… you'd lose your mind or die if you could _never _sleep, but it was very close to it. I've seen the horror of what he… of what that _thing _was, so please don't say that you were Tom Riddle's girl _ever _again, even if you're only joking."

"Alright," she replied. She hadn't expected him to take it so seriously. "I won't."

"Good," he said, returning his attention to his dinner. As he pulled his fork away, Ginny noticed a bit of food clinging next to his lip.

"Hold on, you've got a spot of something, just there," she murmured, reaching out as he looked up and catching the tidbit on her finger. Malfoy watched, slack-jawed, as she examined the particle of food, shrugged, and popped it into her mouth.

"Merlin, Weasley," he said once he'd recovered his senses, "I knew your family couldn't afford to waste food, but that's just ridiculous."

She stared at him for a moment, and then both of them burst out laughing, the awkwardness of their earlier conversation having vanished completely.

George watched from a table across the room as his sister and Malfoy laughed over something, though he couldn't tell what. He couldn't hear anything, because _somebody _had spoiled his fun by making him sit all the way over here, and he hadn't thought to bring an Extendable Ear with him.

"What do you think they're talking about, Oliver? What do you suppose could be _so very funny?_" he asked his companion with a pointed glare.

"Eat your dinner, George," Oliver grunted around a mouthful of food, "and mind your own business."

xxxxx

Draco Malfoy lay awake in bed long into the night.

His earlier encounter with George Weasley had left him unsettled, and with an urge to define what the Weasley girl was to him. If he knew what they were, he would know the rules, and could thereby better avoid incurring the wrath of at least one, and possibly all, of her numerous older brothers. That definition would not come, however, and his confusion brought with it a feeling of restlessness. Surely one girl could not be worth the trouble this one was causing him.

Yet the only conclusion he could draw, one he was completely unable to support rationally, was that she was worth it, indeed.

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**A/N: Okay, there was kind of a lot of fluff this chapter, but I felt like it was due. =)**

**My thanks to Princess Phoenix Tears, Siilver Lining, shana rose, Nutmeg44, bingbangboom5, and Nacilme for their awesome reviews!**

**If you liked this chapter, please review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later. Right now T is for occasional language and suggestiveness.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Uh-oh, back to serious plot! Please be kind and please enjoy! =)  
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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 14: Don't Wait Up  
_**

Weeks passed before Ginny would have the chance to talk to Harry seriously. He wasn't at training every day, as it turned out, and on those days he was present, he put so much of his effort toward making sure Malfoy was keenly aware of his presence that Ginny wasn't able to get him on his own. He was also strangely distant with her for someone who supposedly wanted her back, but perhaps it wasn't really so strange. He had been left with the impression that she'd slept with Malfoy, after all.

Which she had, even if it was only actual sleeping that was involved, and drunken, passed-out sleeping at that. Perhaps under different circumstances she might even have enjoyed it, but those circumstances would have had to involve less vomit.

It wasn't as if it was really Harry's business who she spent her nights with anyway, though Malfoy had chosen to make it his business by implying such a thing. As it stood, she knew she would have to arrange to talk to Harry without Malfoy present if she was ever to have the opportunity to set straight what her brother had been telling him.

The need to have a discussion with Harry was brought into sharp focus one day after practice, when Harry had once again managed to leave without her catching him on his own. It was a matter which Oliver Wood brought to her attention one day as she was leaving the practice pitch for the evening that left her determined to have it out with Harry once and for all.

"Ah, Ginny," Oliver called, hurrying to catch up with her. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Oliver! Yes, of course," she replied, turning to Malfoy. "Go on ahead to the dorm, I'll catch up in a bit."

"Let's go sit down," Oliver offered with a genial laugh, though Ginny thought she could detect a note of tension in his voice. His manner, too, seemed nervous, as he fidgeted while he spoke.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, growing concerned.

"What? Oh, yeah, of course. No, it's just… well, I've recently had a word with Harry."

"And?"

She let Oliver guide her to the edge of the pitch where they settled on some bleachers.

"He's told me that you have an interest in playing for Puddlemere as a Chaser," Oliver informed her. "He suggested that I switch you to a Chaser slot as soon as possible to maximize the potential of your training."

Ginny carefully schooled her features, though it was all she could do not to erupt with the anger that now threatened to boil over. _That business about being a Chaser, again? What was Harry up to?_

"Oh, Oliver, I really hope you haven't done that," she said desperately, mindful of the fact that Puddlemere was Oliver's team and not wanting to hurt his feelings. "It's not that I have anything against Puddlemere United…"

"But it's always been your dream to play for Holyhead, right?" he replied. "And they're going to be short a Seeker in the upcoming year so you've got excellent chances."

"Yes, exactly," she said, smiling with relief. Of course, Oliver would know something like that. When it came to Quidditch he remembered everything, including which teams his friends liked. Apparently that extended to the little sisters of friends as well.

"I thought as much, and you've been playing the Seeker position really well in training, so it seemed strange to me that you'd want to make such a sudden change," he remarked ruefully. "When Harry brought me that request, I thought I'd better run it by you to make sure he hadn't… misunderstood."

Ginny didn't miss Oliver's careful phrasing.

"Sadly, Oliver, I don't think 'misunderstanding' is the right word for it. Harry knows full well that I don't want to be a Chaser for Puddlemere. He's just… you know how stubborn he can be. Once he gets his head wrapped around an idea, it's hard to make him let it go."

"You're going to have to have a talk with him, I'm thinking," Oliver stated knowingly. "It doesn't look like it's going to be enough to just tell him you don't want it. If he's this set on it, there'll be a deeper reason behind it. I have no idea what it is, but until you put it to rest, he'll never let it go."

"You're right… It's just so hard to talk to him, after everything that's gone on between us. I've tried so many times, but he won't hear a word of what I tell him without thinking… I don't know what he's thinking, actually, but he behaves as though I can't make decisions on my own anymore," she sighed. "I'm sorry. I know he's your teammate and I don't want you caught in the middle."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Gin," he said, giving her a brotherly smile. "I don't want him dragging this business onto the pitch come Quidditch season any more than you do."

Ginny placed her hands on his wrist and smiled warmly in gratitude.

"Thank you for telling me about this. I suppose that talk with Harry will have to come sooner rather than later."

xxxxx

Malfoy lingered on the pitch, glancing back over his shoulder. Wood was laughing, but there seemed to be something nervous and awkward about it. The man rubbed anxiously at the back of his head as whatever he said caused Ginny's eyes to widen, and Malfoy stopped walking as Wood slipped an arm around Ginny's shoulders and led her over to the side of the pitch.

What was that about? Whatever it was, Malfoy found he didn't much care for it. Wood was a friend of the Weasley family, Malfoy knew, and was close with George in particular, but surely this was overly familiar behavior. And what were they talking about? Whatever it was, it had Ginny chewing on her lip anxiously before she replied, sending Wood's eyebrows up in surprise.

He couldn't be asking her out, could he? And wouldn't the Weasleys just love it if he was?

Malfoy gritted his teeth. Of course they would. Wood was not only a friend of the family, but he was everything Malfoy was not perceived to be; honest, honorable, _Gryffindor. _An excellent match for the Weasley girl, in other words, with which he could hardly hope to compete. _Really, Draco? _his inner voice hissed. _Does a Slytherin give up so easily? Does a Malfoy?_

But the Weaslette was nodding now, and smiling, although her smile looked more wry than anything… and then she was patting Wood on the forearm, a gesture of intimacy that made Malfoy's skin crawl. Wood took her hand in his own and squeezed it, returning the smile she gave him.

Malfoy found himself wanting nothing more than to throw Wood to the ground while screaming at him to keep his hands to himself. That, however, would be a terrible miscalculation indeed. Not only would it very likely put a swift end to his Quidditch career, he suspected the Weaslette would not respond well to such flagrant displays of aggression, and Malfoys did not permit themselves to lose their cool so easily. They especially didn't lose composure without valid reason, and Malfoy couldn't see why he should feel this way about Wood and the Weasley girl at all.

Besides which, he had to admit that he didn't really know what he was seeing. It could be perfectly innocent. Wood was, after all, an old family friend, wasn't he?

Right. Of course he was. Yet, that thought did little to calm Malfoy's nerves.

Ginny said her goodbyes to Wood, trotting over to rejoin Malfoy once more.

"What was that all about?" he asked, shooting her a questioning look.

"It wasn't anything important," she replied, though he could tell she was preoccupied. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"I didn't mind," he answered, not yet ready to admit how unwilling he'd been to leave her alone with Oliver Wood.

He was also unwilling to admit exactly how much seeing them together had bothered him.

xxxxx

Ginny was in turmoil after her conversation with Wood, to say the least. She couldn't believe Harry had gone to Oliver with his suggestion that she be switched to a Chaser slot! He had presented it as something she wanted, though she doubted that he was trying to be manipulative. It wasn't really in his nature. Rather, it was likely that he still believed it would be what she wanted in the long run, that by doing this for her he could show that he was looking out for her. The problem was that he was completely off base with regard to her goals, and that she neither wanted nor needed his help to achieve them anyway. Fortunately, Wood had the sense to recognize Harry's misguided meddling for what it was.

As her conversation with Wood had made clear, the talk with Harry needed to happen right away. Now it was a matter of getting Harry on his own and making him listen, both of which were difficult prospects to say the least.

She wanted to confide in Malfoy, she really did, but he'd stepped in on her behalf so many times already, and she didn't want to bother him with her problems. She knew he hated Harry, and that it bothered him when Harry came up in conversation.

Besides, Malfoy might try to confront Harry on her behalf, and she didn't see how that would do anything but make the matter worse.

There was still the matter of Harry avoiding her after training though. After being so thoroughly put off by Malfoy the first time, Harry clearly wasn't going to engage her on any terms but his own. Perhaps it was childish of him to avoid her like this only to go behind her back to Wood, but then again, perhaps it was just Harry being Harry. He was prone to acting on what he thought was right regardless of the consequences.

Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. If he wouldn't hear her out on her own turf, she would make him hear her on his.

"Malfoy," she said, stopping up short just outside the dorm. "Go on to dinner without me. I have to go see Oliver again."

She turned and hurried back to the pitch, leaving Malfoy standing alone, the sudden flare of emotion he felt never showing on his face.

xxxxx

Insistent knocking brought Harry to his door, where to his surprise he found Ginny waiting.

"Gin," he exclaimed after a moment's shocked hesitation. "Come in, please."

"I've had a talk with Oliver today," she stated as she entered his flat's small living room. "He tells me you've suggested that I be moved to a Chaser slot."

"Did he?" Harry remarked, his brow furrowing. Clearly he didn't care for the fact that Oliver had sought her out about it. "I really do think it's for the best, Gin. Think about it. You've always loved flying Chaser, and when you're drafted to Puddlemere it'll be so much easier for… well… for us."

"What do you mean, for 'us'?" Ginny asked, her eyes widening.

"I should think that would be obvious, Ginny. If you're on another team, it'll be next to impossible for us to be together. There would be at least an appearance of impropriety, even more so if you were a Seeker. People would say that we weren't playing our best against each other, and they'd probably be right. I know I wouldn't have a problem with it but… can you honestly say you'll be able to fly against me once we're in a relationship again?"

"Harry, I can honestly say that it won't be a problem, because we aren't _going _to be in a relationship again," Ginny replied, her ire rising as her frustration grew. "But if, _if _we were, I can tell you that I would have absolutely no problem playing my very best game against you."

"But if you were a Chaser… if we were on the same team… it would never have to be an issue," he said pleadingly. "It could be just like the old Gryffindor team…"

"The old Gryffindor team where I was constantly overshadowed by you? Or the old Gryffindor team where you couldn't make half the games and I lead them to their biggest victory in years when I played Seeker in your place?" she snapped, all sense of diplomacy having departed completely.

"Ginny, that's unfair. There were reasons I couldn't play that had nothing to do with my abilities at Quidditch," he growled.

"Yes, I know, you were busy being persecuted for your role as the Chosen One. But I don't care about that anymore, Harry, can't you understand that?" she cried desperately. "The war ended a long time ago and I just want to put it behind me."

"Oh, do you? You just want to _forget? _You want to forget everything that happened, all the people who _died? _How about Fred, do you want to forget about him?" Harry continued, his voice climbing to a shout. "Or do you just want to forget all the shit Malfoy did so that you can rationalize being friendly with him?"

"Don't you bring him into this!" she shot back. "This has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the fact that you aren't capable of letting anything go!"

"I think it has everything to do with him," Harry said coldly. "I think the moment you set eyes on him at tryouts, you saw the perfect tool to use against me, to get revenge for whatever it is you think I did to you, because leaving me wasn't enough. I wonder how he would feel if he knew how you were using him, Gin? Or does he know? Is he using you just as much?"

Ginny's hand shot out lightning-quick, striking Harry's cheek before she had even consciously thought to slap him. She gasped at the contact, shocked by her own actions as Harry's head snapped away from her stinging palm. His hand rose to cover his reddening cheek as he glared at her.

"Don't…" she said, her voice soft and trembling. "Don't accuse me of such things, and don't accuse him. You don't know how hard it was to leave, but I didn't do it because I thought you wronged me. I did it because I wasn't happy when I was with you, which had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me."

"I don't fancy the way you've been behaving since you've been around Malfoy," Harry hissed. "You may not be using him, but he's using you, I'm sure of it. It's _what he does, _Ginny. A leopard can't change its spots, even if it wants to."

"Harry, haven't you been listening to anything I've said?" Ginny asked as tears began to fall. What was the point of even coming here if he wouldn't even hear her?

"Have you had sex with him?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no," she answered, uncertain why she was even telling him. It really _wasn't _his business.

"Good," Harry replied, a trace of relief showing on his face. "If you haven't, then he hasn't gotten what he wants, and there's still hope for us."

"Harry…"

"I'm keeping an eye on him, and on you. You can have you bloody Seeker position if you must, but when all this comes crashing down on you… well, we know who you'll come to, don't we? And I'll be here to clean up the mess, just like always, just like every other time you've gotten in over your head, with Dean Thomas, with Michael Corner, with Tom Rid-"

"Harry, stop. Stop this," Ginny said quietly, cutting him off. "This isn't what I came here for, but maybe it's what I needed to hear. I think I understand how you really feel now. I've always been an obligation to you. But Harry… I could never be happy as someone else's obligation. Goodbye, Harry."

With that, Ginny left before Harry could utter another word.

xxxxx

Malfoys didn't wait for anything, or anyone, and they _certainly _didn't wait up for wayward Weasleys. _So what the hell am I doing? _Malfoy questioned himself as he nursed his second glass of firewhiskey. Alcohol wasn't technically permitted in the dorm, strictly speaking, but he wasn't going to sit around doing nothing while he waited in the lounge for the Weaslette to return, watching the fireplace for her arrival like a hawk. Not that he was waiting or watching for _her, _exactly, or so he kept telling himself. It was just a way to pass the time, and the liquor made the boredom tolerable.

He was angry with her. Well, perhaps not with her specifically, but with the situation, whatever it was. Suddenly she just had to see Wood, and just as suddenly she was gone. He was angry at _something, _but that something was an unknown, so his anger had attached to the person at the heart of the matter. If he really examined his feelings, which he didn't particularly want to do, he'd find that layered beneath his anger was fear; fear that he'd done something to upset her, fear that she'd go back to Potter or out with Wood, fear that he'd lose something that wasn't his to lose in the first place.

Those fears were stupid and irrational, based on feelings he couldn't possibly be having, so he did his best to ignore them. Malfoys didn't let anyone get them so tightly wound about anything. Jealousy over Weasleys wasn't permitted.

Damn that Wood, anyway, and Potter along with him.

"Malfoy? What are you doing out here?" a voice called from the hall. "It's after midnight."

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," Malfoy muttered as Wood moved into the room. "Mind your damn business."

"Drinking isn't allowed in the dorm, you know," Wood said offhandedly.

"I don't give a rat's ass," Malfoy snapped.

"Mind if I join you?" Wood asked as he surveyed the bottle. "This is top-notch stuff you've got here."

"As if I'd have anything less than the best. Have some if you must. You're obviously going to anyway," Malfoy grumbled sourly while Wood conjured a glass and poured himself a helping of the amber liquid. "I would have thought you'd be out with the Weaslette."

"Oh, so that's what this is all about, is that it?" Wood nodded knowingly as he took a sip of firewhiskey, his eyes widening in surprise at the taste. "_Really _top-notch. Anyway, no, it's nothing to do with me. Ginny asked me for a pass to leave the dorm."

"To go where?" Malfoy asked, suddenly a lot more interested. _So this isn't about the two of them…_

"Don't see how it's your business," Wood replied, only to be met by Malfoy's glare. "You aren't _worried _about her, are you? She can handle herself, you know."

"Why would I need to be worried about a Weasley?" Malfoy said irritably."Well, for starters, she's considerably prettier than the rest of her lot," Wood answered, speared by Malfoy's angry glare a second time. "I'm not saying I'm interested, it's just an observation. But if I _was _interested, would that bother you?"

"Why should it?" he snapped, sucking down a mouthful of liquor.

"Maybe that's a question you should be asking yourself," Wood said, finishing his drink and preparing to take his leave. "Her pass is for the whole night, and tomorrow's an off day, so she may not be back from Harry's tonight at all. You're probably better off not waiting."

"She went to Potter's?" Malfoy slammed his glass down on the table. "Why the hell-"

"Did I say that?" Oliver said, smiling shrewdly. "Really, I hadn't meant to let you know. Oh, and Malfoy?"

"What?"

"I never said I _wasn't_ interested, either."

Malfoy watched Wood retreat down the hall and gave an indignant snort.

"Like I give a damn whether he's interested," he muttered to the otherwise empty room. "And who said I was waiting? Malfoys don't wait for anyone."

Damn that Weasley girl. What the hell was keeping her?

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**A/N: Wait... what's this? Oliver, what are you up to? And Harry... what are you thinking? And Draco... well, I'll forgive him for being a jealous little sourpuss, but will Ginny? Let's just see what happens next chapter. =P  
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**My thanks to Nutmeg44, ericapeace1, Nacilme, darinmeg, shana rose, Princess Phoenix Tears, and GleeLover77 for their awesome reviews!**

**If you liked this chapter, please review and let me know!  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: T for now but will change to M later (for smutty content.) Right now T is for occasional language and suggestiveness. Rating change coming soon!  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Well, my readers have been asking for some things, namely, more Ginny and Draco goodness. I think you will find this chapter to be positively laden with the goodness! Enjoy! =D  
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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 15: Before Dawn, Nearly Noon  
_**

It was hours later when Ginny finally came stumbling through the Floo, her landing less than graceful due to her lack of focus. The dorm was still and silent, exactly as she had expected to find it; she'd waited this long to return so that she wouldn't have to be seen by any of the dorm's inhabitants, who would have long since gone to bed.

Someone was here, though. A sleeping form sat slouched against the arm of the lounge couch, barely discernable in the dim light that filtered through the window. Soft breathing could also be heard, now that she knew to listen for it. As her eyes adjusted to the faintly lit room, she recognized the sleeping figure as Malfoy.

She could hardly just leave him out here if he'd stayed up waiting for her. Shaking her head, she heaved a sigh. Of course he wouldn't be waiting for her. That wasn't like him; she doubted very much he'd wait for anyone, least of all a lowly Weasley… but she should still wake him, if only so he wouldn't end up sleeping in the lounge all night. As she leaned over to wake him, she spotted the liquor bottle. That certainly explained things; he was probably only here drinking out of boredom.

"Weasley," he growled, his voice husky from sleep as her presence stirred him to wakefulness. "Do you know what time it is? Where have you been?"

"Have you been drinking?" she asked by way of dodging his questions.

"Not much," he replied. "I'm not drunk, just tired."

His gaze found her face, softly lit from the side by the hall light and what little moonlight filtered in through the window. She looked tired as well, exhausted, more like, and her eyelids were red and swollen, the skin below her eyes irritated from being rubbed too much, and her nose was in a similar state. Though he'd been angry earlier in the evening, he was suddenly disinclined to be cranky with her now.

"Have you been crying, Weasley?" he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper yet loud enough to be heard in the silence of the room.

She froze. She didn't want him, or anyone for that matter, to see how much the fight with Harry had shaken her, how much she was hurting. Still, just the thought made her throat close over any answer she could have given, and even as she shook her head no, she knew he'd see that it was a lie, for the tears were already welling up again.

As fresh tears began to stream down her face, Malfoy felt as though something inside of him was going to break. It _hurt, _he found, to see her in such a state, though he couldn't fathom why. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd taken her hands in his and pulled her against him on the couch, letting her head rest on his shoulder as he put his arms around her. It was a completely new thing for him to deal with a woman in such a state of obvious distress, and in the past he might have just ignored her, yet it now felt wrong to do nothing.

Ginny resisted for only a heartbeat before she let herself sag against him. She was so tired, having spent hours after leaving Harry's apartment roaming the streets of wizarding London. It would have been far safer to ensconce herself in a booth at a pub like the Leaky Cauldron, but even there she'd have attracted unwanted attention with her tears. No, on the streets she'd been carefully and guardedly alone as she'd wanted, but now that she sat on the sofa with Malfoy, she no longer knew why she'd wanted it.

"What happened?" Malfoy asked after a while, his voice soft in her ears even as she felt it rumble up from his chest. "I know you went to Potter's, so there's no point in trying to lie about it."

Ginny closed her eyes tightly and bit back a sob. He _had _been waiting for her. How long had he sat in the dark watching the fireplace? How angry had he been with her for going to see Harry without telling him? And how could he be so gentle to her now, after she'd left him with such uncertainty?

"We fought. I went to see him because Oliver came to me today and told me Harry's still trying to draft me to Puddlemere United as a Chaser, and… we fought horribly… and I slapped him…"

"Did you, now?" Malfoy asked calmly, though with interest. "What brought that on? It doesn't really seem like you."

"It isn't important," she replied evasively.

"It was important enough to slap him for," Malfoy pressed, keeping his tone light. "He didn't attempt to molest you or something, did he?"

"What? Of course not," she cried, swatting his arm as she realized he was joking. She doubted even Malfoy would think Harry capable of that.

"What was it, then?" he asked again.

"He said that you… that our friendship was only you using me to get back at him," she answered finally, "and that I was using you for the same thing."

"Oh, drat, I've been found out," Malfoy replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Potter's narcissism was truly boundless. "He would think it's all about him."

"I… I mean, I know you aren't doing that…" she stammered hesitantly. "I was just so mad at him for even suggesting it that I… I lost it completely and I hit him. It just hurt so much… even the idea that you might…"

"Contrary to what Potter may believe, nothing I do has anything to do with him, the bloody prat," Malfoy said as he gently tightened his arms around her.

"Malfoy…" she said, pushing back from him to meet his eyes with her own worried gaze. "Why are you friends with me? You hate my family and we've never gotten on well before now…"

His head tilted to the side as he looked at her. He was tempted to say something flippant, but… she deserved an honest answer. What a strange impulse _that _was.

"I'm not entirely sure I know," he replied. "I only know that some things are less important than they once seemed to be. I can't honestly say I hate your family any longer, although the reverse may not be true, and I'll probably never like Ron. And, strangely, I think I'd want this… friendliness… between us even if that hadn't changed."

"It's just that it's causing you such trouble," she murmured, her gaze dropping to her hands.

"You have no idea, Weasley," he grimaced, thinking of his previous encounter with George and his more recent and much more irritating one with Oliver Wood. "But I'm sure I can think of a way for you to make it up to me," he added with a sly grin.

Ginny looked up at him, her eyes wide and startled.

"Wh-what?" she squeaked.

"Merlin, Weasley, I'm only joking!" he said, struggling to stifle a laugh. "That look on your face… it's unbelievably priceless."

She rolled her eyes and began dabbing at her face with her sleeve as she had been doing all night. Now that she'd finally stopped crying, she wanted to clean herself up, but Malfoy pulled her hand away. His hand cupped her face, his thumb tracing lightly over the tender skin of her cheek, wiping away the damp trail of her tears.

"I think I hate it when you cry, Weasley," he murmured, staring at her intently.

She looked like a frightened creature trapped in the headlights of the Knight Bus, and he found that it was a sight that quickened his pulse and made it seem hard for him to breathe. He traced his thumb over her cheek again, leaning in as he did so, and a second later his lips found hers. The kiss was brief and gentle, hardly more than the touch of his lips on hers for a few seconds, but she looked as though anything more might make her shatter to pieces.

_As if anything could break her so easily, _he thought, the edge of his mouth turning up slightly. But it was true that the Weaslette had already dealt with far too much in one evening.

"Just as friends," he said quietly, and she looked relieved as she nodded.

Truthfully, he was just as relieved that she accepted his explanation, for though kissing her had been an irresistible impulse, he wasn't entirely certain he knew where he wanted it to lead. What he felt for her remained ephemeral, refusing to be examined or categorized, and that was something he needed to know before anything changed. He'd never been hesitant in the past to go to bed with a woman, but he'd never felt so tangled up over one either.

He pulled her to him again, sinking back into the sofa as her weight shifted against him. After a time, he felt more than heard the change in her breathing as her body relaxed further; clearly, the Weaslette had fallen asleep. As he, too, began to doze again, it occurred to him that the dorm lounge was not the best place to spend the night, as everyone there would be sure to catch them there in the morning and that would probably cause more trouble than it was worth.

And, naturally, the Weaslette didn't seem inclined to wake up, exhausted as she was from her encounter with Potter. _How typically bothersome of her, _Malfoy thought, though with more amusement than irritation.

She only mumbled a bit in her sleep as he rolled her off of him, stood, and took her in his arms. The Weaslette was heavier than he'd expected, for while she wasn't particularly big for a girl, she was a Quidditch player and therefore quite athletically built. It wasn't really a problem, as he was more than capable of lifting her, but he'd have to make sure to complain about it later.

Once he'd made it to her room and managed the door, he settled her on the bed, not bothering with the covers as it was a warm enough night. Then, too, she was still fully clothed, and he didn't fancy the reaction he'd receive later if he made any attempt to undress her now… tempting though that might be, even if only for the amusement of seeing her face turn that famous Weasley crimson. No wonder all of them ended up in Gryffindor; one of the colors was already built in.

He hadn't lied when he'd told her he wasn't drunk. His third glass of firewhiskey sat nearly untouched in the lounge, and the effects of the first two had diminished somewhat during the few hours he'd slept. That wasn't to say that he wasn't a bit fuzzy, however… and the Weaslette's bed was soft. It couldn't hurt to lay down for a minute before he went to his room, could it? It was her fault he was tired, anyway. He'd waited up, barely gotten any sleep, and on top of all that, she'd only gotten heavier with every step down the hall. He settled next to her, watching with heavily lidded eyes as she shifted in her sleep, unconsciously seeking his warmth even though it wasn't particularly cold.

He spared one last thought for the rather expensive bottle of firewhiskey he'd abandoned in the lounge, which would undoubtedly be gone by morning, spirited away by unseen, greedy hands.

_Worth it, _he thought as he fell asleep with Weasley snuggled against him.

xxxxx

"You did what?" George asked his visitor. Oliver Wood had come to see him at the shop, and it seemed his old friend had an interesting story to share.

"I might have implied that I like your sister as well," Wood replied casually.

"Oliver… that's just… _evil _of you," George said, his grin broadening with glee. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"It's not as if I _lied _to him. I _am _interested. Of course, my interest in Ginny is purely of a brotherly nature, but Malfoy doesn't need to know that, at least not just yet. Oh, by the way, look what I've brought," Oliver replied, pulling a very expensive-looking bottle of firewhiskey out from beneath his cloak.

"Where did you get that?" George asked, surveying the bottle in awe.

"Hmm, I wonder. You might call it 'spoils of war'," Oliver said with a sly grin as he poured some into the coffee George had provided him. "Have some?"

"Blimey, Ol', it's not even noon!" George exclaimed. "And I really shouldn't. I'm at work, in case it isn't _staggeringly obvious._"

"That's why I'm adding it to coffee instead of drinking it straight. Come on, George, you work in a joke shop that you _own,_" Oliver coaxed.

"And what about what you know of me leads you to believe that being drunk around _any _of this stuff is a good idea, hmm?" George gestured around the shop.

"Suit yourself," Oliver replied, sipping his spiked coffee with a contented expression.

"Still, I can't believe you did that. What did he do afterward?" George asked curiously.

"I wouldn't know. I left him to stew on it," Oliver smirked.

"What? You mean to tell me that you could say something like that and just walk away without waiting to see what happened?" George cried, earning curious looks from a store full of weekend customers. "You didn't even hide in the hall or anything?"

"Why should I? I only wanted to bait him a little, and that's done, for now," Oliver shrugged. "It won't hurt him to think he's got competition. He isn't stupid; he probably knows deep down that Ginny won't go back to Harry. He needs proper motivation."

"What are you, Ol', his coach? It's stirring a hornet's nest, really. It'll cause trouble."

"This coming from you, who only weeks ago threatened the little git to the point that he probably thought you'd castrate him if he so much as looked at Ginny too long," Oliver said pointedly. "You want them to get together, don't you? What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"Well, it's not like I want to make it easy for him. He's going to have to work for it," George replied with a shrug of his own. "You know, so he'll really appreciate her once he's got her. And besides, it was fun."

"See? And if he thinks he's got to overcome a serious rival - one who isn't Harry - then won't he be all the more appreciative of her when the time comes?" Wood grinned. "You're just jealous that you didn't come up with it."

"Apart from the fact that I wouldn't be able to pull it off anyway because I'm her brother and that would be so very wrong… _you're damn right I'm jealous!_" George cried, tugging at Oliver's robes over the counter between them. "How _could _you do it without letting me know so I could be there to see what happened?"

"You would have just ruined it. Now stop sloshing my coffee," Oliver replied bluntly. "It's all about strategy. You don't want him to push his feelings aside because you're making too much trouble for him, and he's definitely the type to do just that. Now that the pressure's on, he won't be able to ignore it so easily."

"… I see what you're getting at," George said slowly, a grin spreading across his face once more. "See, this is why you were the captain in school."

"Yes, George, I know," Oliver flashed George a smug smile as he turned to leave, pausing briefly on his way out. "Oh, there's something else you should know, too. He slept in Ginny's room last night."

George's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"You hold it right there, Oliver! You can't just say something like that and then leave!" he shouted. "You have to tell me _everything!_"

"Hmm," Oliver considered. "Fine, but if I'm staying, you're having a drink."

George sighed in resignation and cast about for something to drink from, as he'd given Oliver his own mug to use for coffee. He finally settled on a teacup that giggled when you drank from it. Oliver poured for both of them and George had a sip, the teacup giggling wildly as his eyes widened.

"Oliver… can I convince you to leave that bottle here when you go?"

xxxxx

The warm light of midday flooded the room. Ginny blinked blearily as consciousness found her once more, her eyelids swollen and stinging from the previous night's misery. It came rushing back to her immediately: Harry's cruelty, the hours spent roaming in search of solace, her inevitable return to the dormitory only to find that long-sought solace with Malfoy.

Her fingers came to her mouth, brushing over her lips as she remembered that he'd kissed her. _Just as friends, _he'd said, mercifully, because she hadn't been in any state to resist something more at the time. She wasn't altogether certain it was something she'd _want_ to resist, but she didn't want such decisions to be made just because Harry had upset her.

If anything were to happen with Malfoy, or with anyone else, she didn't want Harry to be a factor at all.

The bed shifted and Ginny's eyes widened as something warm and shaped rather like a person rolled against her back. A hand snaked under the hem of her shirt and across her belly, pulling her close as its owner, who moaned softly against her shoulder while grinding his hips rather obscenely against her bum…

Glancing over her shoulder, Ginny confirmed her suspicions: Malfoy was in bed with her, or on the bed with her at any rate, though he appeared to still be sleeping. Ginny blushed a furious red, tensing as he continued with his idle, undirected groping. That he was aroused was not even slightly in question, as she could feel him pressed against her backside quite firmly. She should wake him up and put a stop to it, but the prospect was so embarrassing that she hesitated.

The dilemma soon resolved itself, however, as Malfoy yawned and stretched, unwittingly rubbing his insistent affection against her again as he stirred to wakefulness. Even as renewed embarrassment washed over her, she felt a tingling of excitement course through her as well. To say that what she felt rubbing against her bottom was impressive would be something of an understatement.

"Mmm… Weasley?" Malfoy groaned sleepily as he apparently realized where he was at last, shifting slightly so that he was no longer pressed against her quite so… hard.

There was only one course of action to take. She would feign sleep and deny that she'd noticed anything.

"Weasley," he murmured against the back of her neck, his warm breath making her tingle again, "I know you're awake. That is, unless you blush in your sleep."

Ginny opened her eyes again and sighed, rolling over to face him, creating a small space between them as she did so. She grabbed one of her pillows and wedged it between them, hugging it to her chest and hiding her mouth behind the top edge.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked, smirking humorously at her bizarre behavior.

"My mouth probably smells horrible," she replied from behind the pillow, "and besides which, you were groping me, so I'm now obligated to defend myself."

"Did I? I'm sorry," he said, not sounding particularly apologetic. "Especially that I wasn't awake for it."

"You're terrible," she laughed, swatting at him.

"I can't help what I do in my sleep," he replied, and her blush returned in full force. "Really? Was it that bad?"

"Not so much… it was more the other thing," she muttered, hiding more of her face behind her pillow.

"To what 'other thing' are you referring, Weasley? Have I done something else I should be disappointed about not being awake for?"

"No, or maybe… it's just… never mind," she said quickly. "I need to brush my teeth."

"Weasley," he said, sitting up and stopping her as she made to leave the bed. "You're better now? After last night, I mean."

"Yes," she replied, smiling genuinely though with her mouth closed. "I shouldn't let Harry get to me so much. Just because he has an opinion on my life doesn't make it true."

"I'm relieved, then," he said as he put an arm around her shoulders and dropped a light kiss on her forehead, making her blush again, though not as badly. "You know, I think I'll be off to shower, myself. Do you want to get something to eat after, or perhaps spend the day out, since we have it off?"

"I think I'd like that. There's some shopping I've been needing to do in Diagon Alley," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe we could get lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and go on from there."

"Agreed," Malfoy declared as he stood and headed for the door. "Oh, and Weasley?"

"Yes?" she asked, looking up.

"That 'other thing' was only because I'd just woken up. Don't think about it too much."

He flashed her a smirk as he stepped into the hall and pulled her door closed behind him. The look on her face was priceless, her eyes wide and her cheeks reddened to rival a cooked lobster, her mouth hanging open as she spluttered wordlessly.

He'd told her not to think anything of it, but that wasn't the complete truth. It was true, at least at the start, that it had been a result of sleep… but the feeling of waking with her against him had turned it into something more, leaving him with a problem that wouldn't go away on its own anytime soon.

He needed that shower desperately, if only for an opportunity to find some relief on his own.

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**A/N: Serious business: do my readers want a steamy scene next chapter of Malfoy in the shower, if you know what I mean, or should it be left implied? It would be hot, I think, but I'm not sure what this crowd is up for. Please review with your vote! If enough people want it, I'll include it, and the rating will be raised to M next chapter! If not, it'll still be rated T for just a little longer before we get to the real deal.  
**

**My thanks to darinmeg, Nutmeg44, shana rose, IssyRomana97, Nacilme, Princess Phoenix Tears, Dracosbaby7 and BrechtianSchnauzer for their awesome reviews!**

**Darinmeg, you are very in tune with Oliver and George! I'm pleased you picked up on that so early on in their part of the story! ;)  
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	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M for smutty content.  
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**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
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**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: I put it to a vote, and overwhelmingly, smut won out, so I've included a short taste of smut in this chapter. Granted, this is just for fun, but I hope it's enjoyable. For those of you who don't want to read it, it starts right after the chapter title and I'll put in an extra page break after it, so you can scroll right past if you wish.**

**More M content that's more integral to the plot will be coming a few chapters down the line, but I hope this satisfies for now. Please enjoy! =)  
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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 16: Putting Out Fires  
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Malfoy heaved a sigh as the hot water of the shower coursed over him. He'd briefly considered the merits of a cold shower, the more decent option, to be sure, but had dismissed that possibility almost immediately. Weasley had no idea what she did to him, and while he was intent on keeping it that way, that didn't mean he had to continue to suffer when he was alone.

He was hard to the point that it ached, a dull throbbing that he'd been experiencing for some time now. He bit back a groan as he wrapped his fingers around his aching flesh, for it seemed indecent that he was aroused enough to make any sort of noise at the outset. What began as slow, soft strokes quickened rapidly into hard thrusts through his tight grip, sending pleasurable shudders up his spine as a soft sigh escaped from his lips.

His thoughts, what few he was having, were of her; her curves as he knew them from contact they'd had during training and the handful of nights they'd spent in the same bed, her voice, arousing even when she didn't mean it to be, her eyes and the competitive fire that often showed in them. What other kind of heat might they show under different circumstances? Would she look at him? Would her eyes fall closed as she moaned, or perhaps bit her lip to stifle the sound?

He could feel his orgasm building, and only a few seconds later it broke over him as a strangled groan crawled up his throat. He gave himself one last slow stroke as his release pulsed onto the tiled wall of the shower, only to be washed away by the falling water and carried down the drain.

Gasping for breath, his knees weak, Malfoy leaned heavily on the wall. The tiles were cool against his forearm, and, when he rested it there, his forehead as well. His softening member hung heavily between his thighs, agonizingly sensitized and not yet completely flaccid, yet sated for the moment. The water pelted down on his back and coursed over his more tender areas, and he shivered as combination of over-stimulation and a last trickle of pleasure jolted through him.

If the Weaslette only knew…

* * *

Ginny flushed red again as she looked in the mirror, her towel-dried hair hanging damply around her face. This shouldn't be affecting her so much, damn it all. It was just something that happened to men; she knew as much from hearing her brothers talk about it and from her time spent dating Harry. Still, nothing about her brothers' conversations on the subject or her own experiences with Harry had led her to expect something so… large. Even the handful of embarrassing adolescent memories of dry-humping Dean Thomas in the Gryffindor common room left her with no basis for comparison.

"Urgh!" she groaned, hiding her face in her palms as she shook her head vigorously, splattering the mirror with droplets of water from her hair. She had to stop thinking about it!

The fact was, she'd been thinking about it off and on since Malfoy had left a half hour earlier. In the middle of the most innocuous activities, like washing her hair or brushing her teeth or getting dressed, she'd suddenly space out and flash back to the feeling of that hot ridge of flesh pressed against her, the hand creeping up under her shirt, Malfoy's hot breath on her neck… and then she would snap back to reality, blush horribly, and squeal in embarrassment.

She had no idea how she was going to get through the day with Malfoy.

Nor was that her only problem. The fact was, far from being upset by the events of the morning, she had _liked _it. Even now, thinking of it sent a perverse thrill through her. That only made things worse, since it wasn't as if she'd put him in that state. It was just a natural consequence of sleep; he'd said as much himself. It had nothing to do with her, and here she was, obsessing over it like a lunatic. And _Malfoy _of all people…

_Ginny, it's just been too long, that's all, _she chastised herself, and indeed it had. It had been just about a year since she and Harry had broken up, and how long before that had it been since they'd last slept together? Or had sex, at any rate, because she and Malfoy seemed to be proving time and again that one could happen without the other. But how long could such a thing last?

The first time, he'd been injured and probably couldn't have even if he'd wanted to. The second time, they'd apparently been so sloppy-drunk that they'd been capable of little more than landing on a bed and passing out. And this time, she'd been distraught and exhausted, and in fact the last thing she remembered from the night before was being on the sofa in the lounge. If one gave Malfoy the credit of assuming he wouldn't do it to a woman who was unconscious, there hadn't been an opportunity then, either.

That meant that the reason they hadn't had sex was a matter of circumstances precluding the act, not because of some sense of romantic nobility, a term composed of two words that she wasn't even certain applied to herself, and were certainly _not _words with which Malfoy was associated in her mind. If they kept this up, something would happen. It was inevitable, which meant that she would have to decide whether it was something she actually wanted.

Her unruly body wanted it very much, indeed. That much was obvious, but as far as her heart went, she had no idea. And all of this speculation was pointless if Malfoy didn't want her in return. Granted, he probably _would _bed her if she asked, but did she want more than that from him? Would he want more? Would he even be _capable _of more?

_What have I gotten myself into? _she wailed internally. _Nothing just yet, but isn't that also a problem? _

It was definitely a problem, and a big one. Even when she'd been with Harry, Ginny had never been filled with such a consuming feeling of want.

xxxxx

When she opened the door to Malfoy waiting outside, he seemed oddly refreshed. He flashed her a grin that was unusually pleasant, if still somewhat cocky, as he gestured her into the hall. Ginny looked him over with a suspicious eye.

"What are you so happy about?" she asked skeptically. "You look almost as if you're… I dunno, glowing or something."

"Why shouldn't I be happy?" he replied with a smile. "It's a beautiful day, on which it could be said I woke up quite well. I'm rather looking forward to our little outing."

"It's not that different from any other day," she mumbled, ducking her face to hide the blush that was threatening to betray her. "We'll be running errands, basically. I don't see why you're so enthusiastic."

"Come along, Weasley, and see if you don't enjoy yourself," he coaxed, leading her down the hall.

The blush deepened. Perhaps she ought to have _enjoyed herself _earlier in the shower, and then she might not feel so easily embarrassed by Malfoy's presence alone. She'd thought about it, but had ultimately been too embarrassed at the time to indulge the urge. Honestly, it wasn't as if anyone would have _known _about it, and she now regretted not having let off some steam.

Really, how _could _Malfoy be so pleased with himself after waking up like that? Perhaps it was because he was a boy…

He looked rather good, too, she thought as she looked him over. He wore black trousers and a light gray buttoned shirt, long-sleeved, of course, a concession not quite appropriate for summer but necessary to cover the faded remnants of his Dark Mark. The shirt made him seem somehow younger, almost reminiscent of their Hogwarts days, and she realized it was because of his tendency to wear black when he wasn't in the Quidditch uniform. Of course, it was daytime and the middle of summer, so black wasn't really appropriate. Clearly he'd made an attempt to dress for the occasion.

So had she, though she didn't want to admit it. A sundress Hermione had coaxed her into buying before she left, _'just in case it's needed,' _had finally made its way out of the trunk, a garment that even Ginny thought was pretty with its pattern of peach-colored flowers on a white background. The gentle hint of orange even suited her hair. Leave it to Hermione to foresee the possibility of a date- no, scratch that, a _friendly outing. _Ginny wasn't ready to call such a thing a date, and by the sound of it, Malfoy wasn't either. Just as well, really…

"I'm surprised you aren't wearing that black turtleneck again, since we'll be going through the Floo," she commented.

"I never said we were going through the Floo," he said with a smirk. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Possibly it was the _dorm rules, _which clearly state that we're only supposed to come and go by Floo," she replied pointedly. "Then again, the dorm rules prohibit drinking on the premises, as well."

"I'm not going through the Floo in _this,_" he tugged at his shirt, "and you're not dressed for it either."

"I can clean it," she said stubbornly.

"Honestly, Weasley, since when are you such a rule-follower? I remember you being rather more rebellious at Hogwarts…"

"That's because I was part of an _actual rebellion. _It wasn't just pointless rule-breaking," she muttered.

"Could have fooled me," he said with a short laugh before raising his hands in a gesture of apology as she glared at him. "Calm down, Weasley, I'm only pulling your chain a little. We won't be breaking any rules, actually; there's a spot we can apparate from a half-mile down the road from the dorm."

"Oh," she said quietly, embarrassed at her flare of temper. _Since when do Weasleys get embarrassed over their temper? He deserved it, anyway…_

It was a sentiment she couldn't quite bring herself to believe.

He led her outside and they walked the short distance down the lane. She was surprised to find that at some point, she'd linked her arm through his, a gesture he'd accepted without comment, almost as though it was welcome. Even more surprising, it felt comfortable, and natural, and she was content to leave her arm as it was.

"Ah, here we are," he noted as they reached the apparition point. He glanced down at her arm on his, offering her something between a self-satisfied smirk and a genuine smile. "Shall I?"

Ginny responded with a shrug and a nod, and in the blink of an eye he apparated them both away.

xxxxx

The familiar sounds and smells of Diagon Alley surrounded her; the hustle and bustle of shoppers, the sound of shopkeepers hawking their wares, the smell of food from the handful of eateries that dotted the street mixing with the scent of potions ingredients from the apothecary shop and layered over the ever-present smell of owl that wafted from the store that sold wizarding pets. Though it was early yet for schoolchildren to be doing their shopping, when she opened her eyes she spotted a few of the more eager Hermione-type students moving from shop to shop with their parents amidst the throng of casual shoppers.

As she was getting her bearings and considering whether to eat at the Leaky Cauldron or at one of the small cafés nearby, the sound of screams and shattering glass reached her ears, along with an inhuman shrieking that was somehow familiar. As she turned in the direction the sounds were coming from, she was horrified to see that the front window of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had been blown out, and terrified patrons were piling out of the establishment as a barrage of multicolored fireworks burst into the street behind them.

"George!" she cried, taking off at a run, Malfoy following close behind her.

As she neared the shop, she saw that not only were there fireworks flying in every direction, causing both her and Malfoy to have to duck several times, but that several small fires had broken out as well. One particularly large and long-lasting firework seemed to be causing most of the damage; green and rather snake-shaped, it slithered about in the air and set fire to nearly everything it touched. It turned toward them and began heading in their direction.

"_Aguamenti!_"Malfoy shouted with his wand upraised, attempting to extinguish the glowing menace, but to his horror it only doubled in size as soon as the water touched it.

"No!" Ginny cried, shoving his wand down and raising her own. "They're wet-starting; water only makes them worse! _Foamus nonflamare!_"

A rather nasty-looking, yellowish, foamy substance burst from the tip of her wand, encompassing the sparkling snake and the nearby fires it had set, extinguishing them in seconds. She turned the spray on the other fires and on some of the more bothersome fireworks as she cautiously made her way into the smoky store, Malfoy accompanying her rather reluctantly. Only moments passed before she'd put out all but a last few small fires, one of which was burning a bin filled with objects that were making somewhat noxious farting sounds, apparently in response to the flames. Ginny extinguished the bin with particular satisfaction, quieting the noisy things inside.

"Farting Frisbees," she informed Malfoy distractedly as she began to search for her brother. "Because apparently, the Fanged Frisbee wasn't good enough."

"Of course it wasn't!" a voice called from behind the counter, pausing to cough. Momentarily, George rose from behind the counter and leaned on it unsteadily. "Why settle for something that only bites the person using it when it could embarrass them as well?"

"George!" she shouted. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Well, you see, Oliver came by…"

"Hello, Ginny," Wood's voice chimed in, a hand shakily reaching from behind the counter to wave at her.

"Right, and he brought this _unbelievably _good firewhiskey," he added, brandishing a little teacup that was not only giggling at random but uttering the occasional obscenity as well.

"What's wrong with that teacup?" Ginny asked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Oh, this?" George asked, looking speculatively at the swearing teacup. "I'm not sure, but I think it might be drunk. Never used it for liquor before now… how interesting. Anyway, this firewhiskey Oliver brought was too good to pass up, and the next thing we knew, we were playing with some untested fireworks I brought out from the back room."

"What?" Ginny cried, aghast. "Are you insane? You could have burned the store down with you still in it!"

"Oh, relax," George replied, flapping his hand dismissively. "We've had worse. The customers will be back in a day or two, you'll see."

"And the windows?" she muttered angrily.

"Hm? Oh, right. _Reparo!_" George said, lazily flicking his wand and sending the shattered glass panes flying back together and back into their frames, which were also mending themselves. "I daresay I've gotten rather good at that one…"

"Don't be flippant about it! You could have _died!_" Ginny snapped.

"Okay, _Mum,_" her brother shot back, pausing to take a good look at her. "Hold on a moment, Gin. Is that _Malfoy _you've got with you? And what's that you're wearing? Is that a _dress?_ My _goodness, _Ginny, is this a _date _that you're on?"

"What? N-no," she stammered nervously.

"That blush doesn't lie, Gin! You're on a _date!_" George cried gleefully. "Who should I tell about this first? Mum and Dad? Oh, I know… Ron!"

"You wouldn't!" she cried.

"Of course I wouldn't," George rolled his eyes. "I'm only having a bit of fun with you. I don't care if you're out on a date with Malfoy."

"It isn't a date!" she said defensively. "So… you really won't tell Ron?"

"Tell me what? What happened here?" a new voice called from the doorway. Ron Weasley looked around in confusion at the damaged shop, apparently stunned by the state of affairs before him… at least, until his eyes came to rest on Malfoy. Ron's eyes narrowed hatefully.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he growled, his hand reaching for his wand.

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**A/N: It's a little short, I know, but the rest of the Diagon Alley scene was way too long to add to this chapter. The good news is that the next chapter is coming together really quickly, so I should be able to update again soon.**

**My thanks to darinmeg, IceDragonsFlame, bluelover13, Nutmeg44, Nacilme, crimsonriley, shana rose, and bitemyheadoff for their reviews!**

**If you liked this chapter, please review! =)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated T.  
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**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
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**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Hooray for more Diagon Alley! I'm really happy with how the Diagon Alley stuff played out, and it actually spilled into the chapter after this. Good stuff, though. Enjoy! =)  
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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 17: Much Ado About Shopping  
_**

The five of them sat awkwardly around a table at one of the nearby cafés that were peppered up and down Diagon Alley. Malfoy kept a watchful eye on Ron, who periodically rubbed at his painful, recently bat-bogied nose as he picked at his food and glowered; Oliver and George drank coffee in an effort to dispel the remaining effects of the firewhiskey, while Ginny sipped at her soup and pretended that nothing about this situation was in any way amiss.

Ron, upon arriving at the shop for his shift, had spotted both the destruction and Malfoy, and had concluded both wrongly and typically that Malfoy had blasted the place for reasons unknown and mysterious. He had immediately tried to hex Malfoy, an attack that Malfoy had ducked, and before either of them could make another move, Ginny had thrown at her brother what might have been her most vicious bat-bogey hex to date. Ron's nostrils were red, swollen, and scratched from birthing the bogey-bats into the world, and several knots on his head attested to the foul temperament of his magical nose-children.

Ginny chalked it up to the fact that she'd still been loaded with adrenaline after putting out the fires in the shop, and had already been angry with George and Oliver on top of that when Ron had started throwing spells. Surely, that was sufficient reason for her overreaction. It had nothing to do with the fact that Malfoy had been Ron's intended target… or so she tried to convince herself. Judging from George's skeptical glances in her direction, she wasn't the only one who wasn't entirely convinced.

Honestly, though, how was she supposed to date if Ron tried to hex the person in her company? Then again, it probably wouldn't be a problem with just anyone. And of course, this _wasn't _a date, after all. Still, it rankled that her brother couldn't just shut it and let her make her own decisions.

"It's a pity your dress got ruined," George remarked to Ginny.

"Mm," she grunted, hardly looking up from her soup. "I'll clean it."

"Job like that, you'll have to have it done professionally," Wood stated as he glanced at her clothes. "It's a pretty dress, but it's not exactly cut out for firefighting."

"And whose fault was it that I had to do that?" she replied, finally meeting their gazes with a hardened glare.

"We'll pay to have it cleaned," George assured her.

"It's too cute not to see you in it again," Wood added.

"Easy, mate, that's my sister. And who's going to pay me back for my nose?" Ron muttered, fingering the wounded orifice.

"No one, you little git, you brought it on yourself," George snapped. "Now get your finger out of there before I slip you a nosebleed nougat."

"What was I supposed to think, walking in on the shop blown all to bits and Malfoy standing there with his wand out?" Ron nearly shouted.

"You could have used an ounce of common sense, Weaselby," Malfoy muttered darkly, "instead of trying to hex me while my back was turned."

"Your back wasn't turned! You were at least a quarter turn away from that!"

"Oh, yes, because hexing me in the flank is _so _much better," Malfoy bit out sarcastically.

"Quite enough, both of you," Ginny growled, earning a frightened glance from Ron and a raised eyebrow from Malfoy.

"That was an interesting bit of magic you did back there with the foam," Malfoy remarked, smoothly changing the subject.

"Kiss-ass," Ron muttered as he returned his attention to his nostrils once more, causing George to smack him.

"Ah, yes, that. Fred and George came up with it ages ago," Ginny replied as if she hadn't heard her brother at all. "They got the idea from some kind of fire-suppressing foam that Muggles use, isn't that right, George?"

"Yes, well, it's all well and good to have fireworks that can't be damped with water, but you've got to have _some_ means of putting them out. That, and you'd want something to work if they ever got into Muggle hands by accident," George explained.

"I've been meaning to ask about that green one that looked like a snake, the one that was setting everything on fire," Malfoy asked, giving George a pointed look. "That seems a bit more dangerous than your usual fare."

"Ah… that…" George said, fidgeting awkwardly. "It was just a prototype, something that was left laying about in the back room… never intended for sale, you know…"

"I can't help but wonder if it was ever intended to find its way to the Slytherin common room," Malfoy continued, "perhaps with the fire-starting tendencies omitted from the packaging?"

The red tinge that washed over George's face, though fainter than the blushes his siblings could produce, was unmistakable proof that Malfoy was correct.

"Well… that was a long time ago," George said finally.

"Indeed," the blond man smirked at the twin.

Ginny kept eating while the others lapsed into silence, Ron still sulking and fussing about with his nose.

"So," George broke the awkward silence at the table, "what do you intend to do for your birthday, Ginny? Mum was wondering, since it's coming up in a few weeks' time. I suppose I could just wait for her to owl you about it, but since you're here…"

Malfoy seemed to perk up at the mention of her birthday, and began listening with interest, a fact that was not lost on George.

"Oh, I'd meant to tell Mum about that," Ginny replied with a slight frown. "See, I don't think I'll be able to come home, since it coincides with the end of training. There's the team draft, of course, and then if I'm chosen, there's some kind of event that the new team members have to attend."

"Oh, I know about that!" Ron piped up with sudden enthusiasm. "It's some kind of ball, right? Harry was telling me about it, since he's going. Actually, I was thinking that he could take Hermione. That way if you take me, we could all go together. That is, if you haven't got a date yet. You haven't, have you?"

"Erm…" Ginny replied, staring at her brother blankly. She hadn't really given any thought to the matter, and suddenly it sounded like a lot more trouble than she wanted. Briefly, the thought of going with Malfoy crossed her mind, but unless he asked her right here at the table, that probably wasn't going to happen.

"That's right, Oliver's going as well," George chimed in. "What about you, Draco? Have you got anyone in mind to ask?"

"Not particularly," Malfoy replied carefully, aware that all eyes were suddenly on him. "I had planned on going by myself. It'll be crawling with reporters, and if I did take anyone it would be plastered across the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning."

"Huh. Sucks to be you, then," Ron scoffed before turning back to Ginny. "So how about it? Can Hermione and I go?"

"Don't be selfish, Ron," George said, rolling his eyes. "Nobody wants to be the girl who has to bring her brother as a date."

"Well, who else is she going to bring?" Ron cried defensively. "Come on, Ginny, what's your answer?"

"I suppose so…" she hesitantly agreed, deliberately avoiding Malfoy's gaze. It wouldn't do for him to see how much she wanted to go with him instead, not when his reasons for not inviting anyone made so much sense. "Just so you understand, there's always the possibility that I won't be chosen for a team."

"Then you can go with Harry, and Hermione and I will just stay home," Ron said decisively, as though the matter had been settled.

Malfoy, George noticed, looked exceptionally irked, but said nothing.

"I am _not _going with Harry. If that happens, I'll just not go," she snapped.

"Look at it this way, Ginny," Oliver added quietly. "A brother is hardly a proper date, so that means you're open to dance with anyone you please."

"Oh, that's right, isn't it?" Ginny said, brightening noticeably as she glanced sideways at Malfoy, who was glaring at Oliver. Oliver only smiled smugly in return.

_How very excellent, _George thought with amusement.

Lunch wrapped up soon after, and as Ginny pushed back from the table, she announced her intent to finish the rest of her shopping.

"Here's a thought, Gin," George said as he, too, stood. "Why don't you buy a new dress and leave that one for cleaning? I can pick it up when it's done and have it sent on to the dorm. You can't do your shopping like that."

"I can and I will," she replied. "It would be silly to buy another dress, and I haven't really got the money anyway."

"I'll pay for it," George insisted. "I know you don't want to take my money, but the shop's doing really well - er, today notwithstanding - and I really can afford it. Besides, you can take the opportunity to look for a dress to wear to the ball as well."

"I have one," she said confidently.

"Have you?" Malfoy inquired, keeping his tone carefully neutral, though he was in fact surprised.

"Yes, I was just going to wear that dress I wore out to dinner," she replied.

Malfoy's eyebrows rose slightly as he recalled the dress, mint-green with black trim and a knee-length skirt.

"That won't do, Weasley. It's too casual."

"It'll do well enough. What more will they expect of me? I'm only a Quidditch player," she said with a defensive shrug.

"It's a formal affair, Weasley, an opportunity for rich and important people, Ministry officials and the like, to mingle with up-and-coming sports celebrities. Mostly it's just so they can brag about who they've rubbed elbows with, but there's to be some sort of charity auction as well, so it's a fairly important event. Trust me, you _will _be expected to dress properly."

"It's true, Ginny," Oliver added. "Didn't you go with Harry year before last? Oh, that's right, you had the flu or something. But you've been to other balls, Ministry events and such, haven't you?"

"Well yes, but…"

"So why don't you just wear one of the dresses you wore to those?" Ron added. "There was that one blue one, wasn't there? And like two or three others…"

"Well… I… you see, the thing is… I got rid of them," Ginny admitted.

"What? Why would you go and do a thing like that?" Ron asked, plainly confused.

"I didn't want them anymore! Harry bought them all and I just… didn't want them," she said, trailing off in a mumble.

"Well that's just stupid," Ron grumbled, earning a punch in the arm from George. "Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Just shut your trap, would you?" George growled. Ginny was plainly upset, and Ron was only making things worse.

"It's easily taken care of, Weasley," Malfoy assured her, resting a hand on top of her head. She almost laughed at the gesture, for it made her seem rather like a five-year-old, but from the glares Ron was shooting at Malfoy over even that, he wouldn't be able to get away with anything else.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash and a popping sound, and the five of them looked up to find that their picture had just been taken, apparently by a photographer from the Prophet. More unfortunately, Rita Skeeter was with him.

"Hello," she said, flashing them all a rather lecherous grin. "I was just in my office at the Daily Prophet and I heard that someone had saved Weasley's Wizard Wheezes from burning to the ground. I had no idea it was the infamous Draco Malfoy who had done the heroic deed. This story was looking to be page three at best, but I think it just might be front-page fare now. Care to give us a few words?"

Malfoy took a step back as she oozed closer to him; he was reminded rather uncomfortably of her inappropriately seductive behavior during his fourth year at Hogwarts when she'd covered the Triwizard Tournament. Being singled out by the middle-aged reporter was almost never a good thing. He would know, as he'd helped her quite a lot that year in gathering material for her numerous articles on Potter, but there was a huge difference between using her for his own ends and actually liking her, or making the mistake of believing that she could be trusted.

"I didn't do anything; I just happened to be there," he said cautiously.

"Just in the right place at the right time, eh?" the reporter replied, twisting his words already as she stepped forward to close the gap once more. "Come now, don't be shy. One might think you'd want a bit of good press, you know, to show the public how you've struggled so heroically to overcome your Death Eater past-"

"I have no further comment," he snapped, snatching his arm away when she reached for it. "Now leave me the hell alone."

Malfoy turned and stormed off down the street, and after a moment's hesitation, Ginny trailed after him. She wasn't certain it was wise to follow him when he was in such a mood, but it was better than remaining behind to be bombarded with questions from the awful Skeeter woman. Ginny glanced over her shoulder and saw that the reporter was now interviewing the remainder of their group in order of relative fame, beginning with Oliver Wood.

"Malfoy, wait!" she called out, finally catching up with him.

Malfoy was tempted to shake her off when she latched onto his arm, but he fought the urge.

"Don't hang on me in public, Weasley, unless you want them to get a picture of that, too," he snapped irritably, casting an anxious glance in the direction from which they'd come.

"I don't care what they get a picture of," she replied. "I only want to know if you're alright. That woman had no right to bring up… _that… _the way she did."

"Yeah, but it's always going to come back to that, isn't it?" he nearly shouted in frustration. "One bloody _awful _mistake, and it'll be with me for the rest of my life."

"It's not as if you killed anyone," Ginny said gently.

"No, it's only as if I stood idly by while others died," he replied.

"Nonsense," she said firmly. "Merlin knows what _any _of us would have done if we'd had to live in the same house as You-Know-Who_._ I had to live with him in my head for a year, but even then it wasn't as if he could just kill me or my family on a whim."

"Weasley…" Malfoy sighed. "Just so you know, the Manor isn't really what you'd call a house."

"I know that," she replied, rolling her eyes at his deflection. "I was just saying…"

"I know what you were saying, Weasley," he said, smiling weakly. "I know. Thank you. Let's just go and shop for that dress. You look like a wreck and I don't want to be out here on the street any longer than I have to with Rita Skeeter trolling about."

"As if you look any better. You ran into that burning building right behind me, you know," she smirked at him. "Oh, but I've forgotten to get money from George, and I suppose we can't go back…"

"I think we'll be able to find a shop that will run you a tab," he replied, guiding her down the street by the elbow.

"Oh? Which do you think is most likely?" she asked, looking around curiously at the various storefronts.

"Since I'm with you… any of them."

xxxxx

Shopping with Malfoy was a surreal experience, to say the least. Not only did the shop clerks fall all over themselves to help her, one of them actually insisted on following her into the dressing room to help her clean up. Ginny supposed that it was as much to protect the merchandise from damage as anything else, but a few moments later she was spot-free nonetheless, and the smoky smell had been reduced to a faint odor that was pleasantly reminiscent of an evening spent by the fireplace. Several dresses, all in her size and in styles similar to the one she'd been wearing, were brought to her for her perusal, rather than her having to go collect them from the rack. It was a service that anyone in her present circumstances could probably ask for, but she hadn't even had to make the request. While she doubted very much that Malfoy ever shopped at a place like this, for though it was high-end for her it was doubtlessly quite lowbrow for him, his family must be known to every vendor in Diagon Alley by reputation alone.

She selected a sundress that was just a little more expensive and immodestly cut than she would normally buy, with spaghetti straps and a low neckline that showed quite a lot of cleavage, but since George would be paying the tab and she'd be holding him to the deal, she splurged just a little. As she looked at herself in the mirror, admiring the way the dress clung in all the right places, its pattern of blue-violet butterflies against a white background doing all manner of charming things for her complexion, she was surprised by the clerk who had brought her a pair of shoes that complemented the dress.

"Yours are in a terrible state," the clerk said apologetically. "Mr. Malfoy told us we should send them in to be cleaned as well, and add these to the bill."

"Ah… of course," Ginny nodded. Well, she'd probably saved George a great deal more than this in the cost of damages anyway, and the shoes were adorable, wedge sandals with light tan heels and straps in a lovely shade of blue that matched the accents on the dress.

When she emerged from the dressing room, she found that the arrangements were being taken care of and that one of the clerks in the store had already taken her things to a nearby cleaners'. Malfoy glanced at her sideways, his eyes lingering on the ample expanse of cleavage that the top of her dress revealed.

"I think I like your tastes, Weasley," he said with a slight smirk. "Though you're going to want to put a sunblock charm on those before we go outside…"

"And to whom shall I make out the tab?" the clerk asked as Ginny shot Malfoy an embarrassed glare, though secretly she was pleased he'd noticed.

"George Weasley," Ginny answered.

Malfoy smirked as the clerk glanced at Ginny with a look of startled hesitation.

"Don't worry, he's good for it," Malfoy assured the sales clerk. "I hear his business is booming."

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I can't resist a bad pun. Also most of this chapter isn't really about shopping at all, but it was either settle on that title and update now, or wait until I don't have a migraine brewing and can think of a better one! I figured updating sooner was the correct priority. =P**

**I think Malfoy's having one of those days where nothing goes quite how you want it to, but maybe things will turn around next chapter. Maybe. Ron, for one, is definitely having a bad day. I wonder what he said to Rita Skeeter? I wonder...**

**My thanks to Nutmeg44, darinmeg, amethyst-rose, Greenstuff, Nacilme, bingbangboom5, shana rose, and Princess Phoenix tears for your reviews since the last update! I'm very excited to have reached 99 reviews, which could also be called 'Almost 100'. Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed so far!**

**If you like this chapter or the story in general, please review! =D**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated T.  
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**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: The end of the Diagon Alley sequence has been reached with what I hope is a humorous conclusion; subsequently, we're back into serious plot! Please enjoy! =)  
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* * *

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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 18: Where the Earth Meets the Sky  
_**

Malfoy stepped out of the dressing room, fastening the cuff of his new shirt. The attendant stepped forward to take the clothes that were dirtied in the fire. The shirt and slacks were both black, and though Ginny was sorry to see the gray shirt go, Malfoy did look good this way as well. As he glanced up, she averted her eyes so he wouldn't catch her looking.

The shop they were currently in was far more upscale than the one where Ginny had chosen clothes. Of course, Malfoy had been dressed rather nicely, and he was looking to replace what he'd been wearing, so it made sense. Still, Ginny didn't think she had ever even set foot in a place that sold such expensive things.

"Back to wearing all black, I see," Ginny noted, smirking in his direction.

"With the way things are going today, it's best to be safe," he said with a smirk. "Besides, one can never own too much in the way of black clothing."

"Will that be all, sir?" the clerk asked, hardly paying Ginny any notice while looking Malfoy up and down as though he was deliciously money-flavored. "Will you require any tailoring services?"

"I think this will do," he replied, for the shirt fit quite well. "You'll see that my things are taken for cleaning?"

"Of course, sir," she said. "Shall I put this on your account?"

"Yes, that will do nicely…" Malfoy cast a glance at Ginny. "Since we're here, you might try a few things on and see if there's something you like for the Quidditch gala. This shop carries women's formal wear."

"I couldn't afford anything in here in a million years," Ginny replied with a laugh, ignoring the clerk's narrowed eyes.

"You could still get an idea what style you might like," he coaxed. "I'm sure the staff here won't mind showing you some dresses."

"Of course not," the clerk said sweetly, all smiles once more as Malfoy glanced in her direction.

"Well… if you say so," Ginny agreed, thinking it couldn't possibly hurt.

Malfoy settled himself comfortably on a lounge that was presumably supplied for just such occasions, and Ginny made her way to the dressing room after giving her size information to the shop clerk.

This woman wasn't nearly as friendly as the one in the lower-end shop had been, unsurprisingly, for Ginny suspected that working here had given the clerk ideas that she was above common people. The woman clearly thought that Ginny didn't belong there, but was willing to do whatever was necessary to please a more important client. This was evidenced by a muttered comment about common trash on the way to the dressing room that Ginny was certain she hadn't been meant to hear.

_Let's see how she feels after I try on every dress in my size, _Ginny thought with a twinge of malicious glee. The trying on of dresses had become an opportunity to put the clerk through her paces.

"What sort of dress might you like to see today?" the clerk asked with barely concealed contempt.

"Oh, I'm not sure," Ginny replied, smiling sweetly. "I don't really know what _his _tastes are, you see… so I suppose I'd better try on _everything._"

"… Very good, Miss," the clerk replied through gritted teeth.

As dress after dress vanished into the dressing room, Malfoy began to feel curious about what was going on in there. Not only had Ginny apparently gone through the choices out on the floor, but when a truly hideous tangerine monstrosity was trotted out, he realized she'd begun sending the clerk to the back to dig through the storerooms as well.

"Am I going to get to see anything?" he called out finally, hoping to get an answer to his many questions.

"Oh, you wanted to see?" Ginny replied, trotting out in the horrid orange dress, which proved to be of a mermaid-cut and sequined on top of everything, and had probably been sitting in the back room for at least twenty years. "Well, what do you think?"

It was all he could do not to laugh as she twirled around, showcasing the wretched dress as it clashed with her hair in the worst possible way.

"It's very dramatic," he said seriously, intent on playing along, "but it's not really your style."

"Hmm, that's what I thought," Ginny said thoughtfully, turning to the clerk. "Excuse me, but I didn't realize that he wanted to see what I was trying on. I'll need to see everything again, please."

The clerk looked as if she might actually refuse, so Ginny upped the ante. She looked directly at Malfoy and smiled brilliantly.

"Isn't that right, darling?"

He froze for an instant, taken quite by surprise, but he recovered himself quickly.

"Yes, I'll need to see it all… Sweet-cheeks," he replied, once more forcing himself to keep a straight face. Ginny, to his amusement, almost faltered as he delivered the horribly embarrassing pet name, but she held it together long enough to give the clerk a dismissive nod.

Ginny spent the next hour parading every dress in the shop in front of him, demanding matching shoes for each to show the dress off 'to its fullest effect'; some of the dresses were passable, some actually looked quite appealing, and some were nearly as dismal as the first dress he'd seen.

"Are there any you like particularly well?" he asked curiously as she neared the end of the dresses once more.

"Well… there is actually one… I was saving it for last…" she said coyly, playing her role to the hilt.

"I suppose you'd better show it to me," he said, letting a note of command slip into his voice. If he was going to play the part of a rich playboy spoiling his girlfriend, he'd have to make it believable.

"Alright," Ginny replied with a giggle for the clerk's benefit, who by now was nearly trembling with rage at the insult of waiting on someone of such low class.

Moments later, Ginny emerged from the dressing room once more, wearing a dress that had Malfoy's attention immediately. It was classic black and fit her beautifully, with a neckline that dipped dangerously between her breasts and, he saw when she turned, straps that looped through each other in the back to cross her pale skin, which was exposed clear down to the base of her spine. He knew he was staring, but it couldn't be helped. The Weaslette looked absolutely gorgeous.

"What do you think, Sugar?" she asked with a wink, and it was all he could do not to let his jaw drop.

_Stop thinking that, it's only Weasley… it's only Weasley… _he reminded himself forcefully.

"You look incredible," he replied, letting the slightest note of randiness slip into his voice, purely for the sake of realism, or so he told himself. The truth was that he wasn't entirely sure he could hold it back.

Ginny felt herself blushing as she made her way back to the dressing room. She was dimly aware that the clerk had just left to take a call through the Floo network, more than pleased to take a break from her difficult customers, so Ginny was startled when the door to her changing room swung open.

"Weasley, it's me," Malfoy whispered as he slipped in, checking over his shoulder to see if the clerk had noticed when he slipped away.

"Malfoy, what are you doing in here?" she cried, only barely managing to quiet herself.

"Well, you just started acting like that and I wanted to know why," he said in a rush. "I'm more than happy to play along, but… did that clerk do something to upset you?"

Ginny flushed red, angry rather than embarrassed, and Malfoy couldn't help but notice that the flush spread a good bit lower than just her face.

"She did, didn't she?""I just overheard her muttering something as she was leading me to the dressing room," Ginny mumbled. "It isn't important. She just thinks it's beneath her station to wait on people like me."

"I thought it might be something like that," he said grimly. "I'm sorry that happened."

"I'm surprised you're not offering to have her fired or something," Ginny said with a soft laugh.

"Truthfully, I probably could, if you wanted," he replied with a shrug.

"No, of course I don't want that! I mean, she's a bitch, but… well it's probably all she has," Ginny said thoughtfully. "I'm quite content just to torment her with the promise of a sale."

"Which you're doing amazingly well, I might add. I haven't seen anyone besides my mother push a sales clerk around so much," Malfoy smirked.

"Mr. Malfoy?" the clerk's confused voice called; obviously, she was finished with her call.

"Oh! You'd better go, we don't want to be caught back here…" Ginny cried softly.

"… Or do we?" Malfoy said slyly. "Do you _really _want to make her jump through hoops for us?"

"… What did you have in mind?"

xxxxx

The clerk shuffled toward the dressing room, intent on finding her wayward customers. She supposed that since one of them was a Malfoy, they probably wouldn't have stolen anything, although with a girl of such obvious low class one could never be sure. But if they put her through all that and she didn't even get a sale…

A soft moan from behind the closed door of the dressing room caught her attention.

"Oh no… we shouldn't… what if we're caught?" the girl whispered just loud enough to be heard.

"I'm rich. They'll let me do whatever I want," he replied.

"Who… who says… I'll let you… oh…"

The girl's breathy murmur deteriorated into wordless moans and whimpers, which were joined shortly by more masculine grunts and groans as the weight of bodies began to pound against the dressing room door. The clerk was torn between listening indecently and retreating to the front of the store, but to her horror, the sounds soon grew loud enough that she could hear them from the viewing area. After a few moments more, the noises reached a crescendo with the addition of shouted dialogue, the content of which made her blush scarlet, and then the shop fell into silence.

xxxxx

Malfoy leaned against the door of the changing room on which he'd been thumping with his back, casting a glance at Ginny, who had a hand clamped firmly over her mouth to stifle the laughter that threatened to burst from her. As an afterthought, Malfoy rumpled his shirt and tousled his hair for added effect before he left the changing room.

Ginny swiftly changed back into her sundress, leaving the beautiful black gown on the hanger. It really was a pity she couldn't afford it. She joined Malfoy outside and they made their way to the front of the shop together.

"Erm… have you found everything to your liking?" the obviously flustered clerk asked.

"Yes, I have to say I've quite enjoyed the service I've received in this shop," Malfoy replied with a completely straight face.

"I… I see!" she stammered. "And does the… lady… wish to make a purchase?"

"Ah, I suppose we'll have to take the black dress," he answered. "Please check it over for stains before you deliver it. Oh, and add in the matching shoes as well."

"On… your account… sir?"

"Of course," he said, turning to Ginny, whose mouth was hanging open. "Come along, you little tart."

Utterly shocked, she linked her arm through his and let him lead her out the door. They barely made it outside before they glanced at each other and burst out laughing.

"I can't believe you bought the bloody dress!" she howled.

"Well, I had to leave that clerk with something, didn't I? After everything you put her through…" he said, giving her a smirk to beat them all.

"You helped, and she deserved it! Honestly, what a horrid woman…" Ginny said as she calmed down.

"Don't let it get to you," Malfoy replied. "It's getting late. We really should see to those errands you came here for."

xxxxx

The summer sun was hanging low in the sky by the time they apparated back to the road that led to the training dorm. They'd completed her errands and had an early dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, a pleasant change from the not-unappealing but rather boring fare of the dormitory cafeteria.

The sky, filled with shades of orange and pink, hung beautifully over the open fields of wild grasses that surrounded the dorm. In the light of the fading day, everything was aglow with brilliant color. There was no one to be seen; it was as though they had the whole world to themselves.

"So, what did you need to stop at the apothecary shop for?" Malfoy asked curiously.

"None of your business," Ginny replied with a smirk.

"Well, I suppose," he drawled, his hand snaked out and snatched the bag from her grasp, looking inside, "that I can just make it my business. Oh, a supply of Mrs. Monthly's Menstrual Maladies Mollifier. No downward facing dog for you next week, eh, Weasley?"

"Give it back!" she shouted, though she was grinning broadly and struggling not to laugh.

"You know, you could have just asked me for some. People are still leaving it at my door periodically, no pun intended, only it's been charmed so the label says 'Mrs. Malfoy's' instead. I don't think these people realize that Mrs. Malfoy is my mother and not some female me, so it fails to be particularly insulting…"

Ginny burst into a fit of laughter that continued until tears began to leak from her eyes.

"Oh, Merlin, that just reminded me… of the dressing room…" she said in-between laughing and gasping for breath, "when we were faking it, and you pretended to finish… and you called out for your mum… what the clerk must have thought!"

"I thought it was a rather nice touch, myself. When you're wealthy you've got to imply something really sick to shock anyone. I don't think she'll spread it around though, since she'll be hoping to get our business again," he replied, holding the bag up over his head when Ginny grabbed for it again. "I don't think so, Weasley. If you want it, you'll have to try harder than that."

She lunged for him playfully and he took off at a run, cutting into the field at the side of the road. She unstrapped her shoes and ran after him barefooted, shoes in hand and the earth warm under her feet. She gained ground until she was close enough, then launched herself at him in a tackle that brought him to the ground.

"Oof… Good Lord, Weasley, you play rough," he grunted beneath her as she snatched the bag back from him.

"That's what you get for making me chase you," she smiled.

He rolled beneath her until his back was against the ground; she was pinning him, straddling his hips, her hands at his shoulders. Her face was radiant, aglow with the light of the setting sun that also caught in her hair, making it shine with sparks of coppery light.

"Weasley… you're really beautiful," he breathed softly as he looked up at her.

Her eyes widened the slightest bit and though her cheeks pinked slightly, she didn't blush as deeply as he might have expected. Instead, she regarded him thoughtfully, taking her plump lower lip between her teeth. He felt all breath leave him as he watched that small gesture, one she probably didn't know she was making and undoubtedly didn't know would affect him this much; his heart had begun to pound with an insistent thump and his mouth was suddenly dry, and as she released her lip from her teeth, she leaned down toward him…

The brush of her lips against his was soft, hardly more than a whisper of skin against skin, warm and tingling.

"What was that for?" he asked in a whisper as she pulled back slightly.

"A thank-you, for the compliment," she said softly, "as friends."

She leaned back down and pressed her lips to his again, more insistently this time, and he kissed her back. Her lips began to move, as did his; they kissed slowly, almost lazily, for several seconds before she broke the kiss again.

"And that?" he asked.

"Well… you bought that dress… oh, but there were shoes, too, and you helped me get back at that awful sales clerk. Come to think of it, there were so many things today to thank you for."

The summer breeze stirred the tall grasses, and he realized they couldn't be seen from the road, and wouldn't be disturbed. Her warm brown eyes reflected the sun like fire, but not all of the fire in them was from the light of the sun; there was heat there that was all hers, and want that was only for him. And then her lips were on his again, and there was no more thought.

His lips parted as hers moved against them; her tongue slipped into his mouth, questing delicately along his own and sending shivers down his spine. The kiss was slow and deep, almost lazy; it was like time had stood still, and they were in no hurry. His hands idly caressed her bare thighs where her skirt had ridden up, eliciting a small moan that was muffled by his mouth and traveled to the very core of him.

Their kisses took on an edge of passion, though they remained slow and languid. He'd felt the telltale tightness of cloth over swelling arousal from almost the moment her tongue had slipped into his mouth, but it had begun when he'd seen how beautiful she was on top of him, bathed in that radiant glow. She felt it now too, and it was his turn to utter a soft groan as she shifted her hips against him.

She drew back slightly, observing Malfoy as he lay below her. He was blonde hair and black clothes against the straw-colored grass surrounding them, his gray eyes darkened almost black, pupils wide and rimmed with the thinnest ring of silver. His lips, parted with heavy breaths escaping them, were tinged faintly pink from the work of her own lips upon them. He held perfectly still, saying nothing, as though the slightest movement might frighten her off. And all the while, evidence of his insistent want was pinned beneath her hips…

"How much more thanking have I to do?" she breathed.

"At least until sunset," he murmured softly. "Until then, we can stay like this… if you want."

She nodded, just barely, a faint smile playing across her lips, and they came together again. This time, his arms were around her, embracing her, his kiss more urgent. He was reaching for her, she realized, like the earth for the sky, and she was falling like the sky to the earth.

A long while later, when the moon had risen and they knew they'd soon be missed at the dormitory, they made their way back at last, hand in hand. They took the walk as slowly as possible, as if knowing that when they reached the dorm, whatever had just happened would have to come to an end.

xxxxx

Ginny sighed happily as she closed the door of her dorm room behind her. She didn't know what had compelled her to kiss him, but it had felt amazing. She hadn't felt that excited since she'd snogged Michael Corner for the first time, and that had ended awkwardly, but this… it felt wonderful. It really did. It had been such a long time since she'd done anything like that with anyone.

She made her way to the bed and flopped onto it, staring out the window at the night sky.

What it was between them, she didn't know, but she knew she wanted to see where it might lead. Whether that made them more than friends… she had no idea.

xxxxx

Malfoy slumped against the door of his dorm room as it closed behind him, sliding slowly down the hard surface to the floor. The cold light of the moon poured through his window, throwing everything in the room into stark contrast. He ran his hands through his hair and heaved a frustrated sigh.

It had felt overwhelmingly good to kiss her like that, his hands roaming over her, tangling in her hair. There had been something inexplicably innocent about the whole thing, a knowledge that it wasn't a prelude to something else, but simply was what it was. And though it had only been kissing, it was, he felt, the most intimate he'd been with anyone in a long time, perhaps ever. Though he'd been with women before, his heart was seldom involved in the matter as it was now.

_This was untainted by everything that you are,_ a dark thought whispered in the back of his mind. _How long can you expect to keep it that way?_

That was the heart of the matter. He had no business kissing her like that. He didn't know what he wanted them to be. He didn't know what he could offer her as anything more than what they were. Money, he had, and status to some degree, though his family's tarnished reputation was more curse than blessing… but the Weasley girl deserved someone who could love her. He knew that much. Was he that person? Was he even capable of being that person?

Until he could answer that, this couldn't happen again.

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**A/N: Oh no... Malfoy's been attacked by the doubt-monster. Well, it happens to the best of us, and it's definitely time to throw down a little drama anyway. It's a well-known fact that drama leads to... other things. ;) I think this is going to get worse before it gets better. So it goes!  
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**My thanks to Nieve-onza, Nutmeg44, Princess Phoenix Tears, Dracosbaby7, Aikoyu Saotome, Kay8abc, Greenstuff, KarenWalker, and Nacilme for your awesome reviews since the last update. And...  
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**I now have more than 100 reviews! How exciting! Please keep reviewing and let me know what you think of my story! =D**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated T.  
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**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
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**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: This update's a bit early because I just got some really bad news from home, and it looks like I'll be going out of town in a couple days for I don't know how long. I'll try to update where I can and I've got a pretty good amount of material written for the upcoming chapters, but I probably won't update quite as regularly over the next couple weeks as I have been lately. I'll still make the effort though, even if I can only manage one update a week, so please don't abandon this fic, because I certainly won't! Also, I apologize for any mistakes in this chapter that I didn't catch; for obvious reasons, my editing skills are not what they could be today.  
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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 19: Falling from Grace  
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Draco Malfoy lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was dressed and ready for Quidditch practice, but it was still a little early, and he found himself turning over the events of the previous day in his mind yet again.

Weasley had kissed him, snogged him, more like, and he had no idea what it meant. She had said it was a 'thank-you' for everything he'd done for her, but what had he done, really? He'd bought her a dress and watched while she saved her brother's business. He'd done nothing to speak of. She'd been rather casual about the whole thing, too, leaving him with no clues as to what it meant to her.

He broke out of his reverie when an owl tapped insistently on his window, announcing the arrival of his copy of the Daily Prophet. He'd paid for his subscription in advance so the bird would not be obligated to wait around and pester him for payment, but that didn't mean it wouldn't linger and make an annoying ruckus to see that he got the paper in the first place. Heaving himself from the bed, he made his way to the window and opened it.

As he dismissed the owl, he flipped the paper open, and a pair of articles caught his eye. Both were on the front page, though at the bottom; the first was a detailed account of the explosions at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes the day before. Ordinarily, the presence of such an article on the front page would indicate an exceptionally slow news day, particularly considering the frequency with which such occurrences apparently manifested themselves.

It was the companion article that shed some light on the mystery. It was about him, and the newspaper seldom missed the opportunity to plaster his name on the front page. Still, how much material could they have, seeing as he'd declined the interview? He read on to find out.

'_Draco Malfoy: Hesitant Hero or Manipulative Menace?' by Rita Skeeter, _the front-page headline read.

_In the midday shopping bustle of a typical Diagon Alley week-end, the joke shop known as Weasley's Wizard Wheezes burst inexplicably into flame. Arriving almost immediately on the scene was the youngest child and only daughter of the Weasley clan, Ginevra Weasley. She brought with her a strange companion, indeed - one Draco Malfoy, scion of the Malfoy name, heir to the family's vast financial holdings, and heir as well to one of the family's darker traditions: service to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. During the Second Wizarding War, it is now known, the Malfoy family owed their loyalties to the Dark Lord. Though they now put up a reformed front, Draco Malfoy in particular, this reporter is forced to wonder: Is their repentance genuine, or merely a disguise far less obvious than a Death Eater's mask?_

_Witnesses report that Malfoy and the Weasley girl entered the burning building - which was also erupting with explosive fireworks at the time - with little regard for their own safety. The shop's proprietor, George Weasley, stated that their quick action undoubtedly saved his business and untold galleons in property damage, and possibly his very life as well. This glowing report was backed up by the testimony of famed Quidditch Keeper Oliver Wood, who nodded in agreement, adding, "Malfoy's a hell of a Quidditch player, too." High praise from Wood, who is co-captain of the Puddlemere United team and currently one of the instructors in charge of the British-Irish League's training program, in which Malfoy is currently a participant._

_The investigation took a turn when this reporter was sought out shortly after the incident by one Ronald Weasley, brother to Ginevra and George, children all of Arthur Weasley of the Ministry of Magic. Ronald claims that the younger Malfoy is using Ginevra for his own ends in an effort to secure her father's support in a future bid to work at the Ministry, and that his efforts to become a professional Quidditch player are part of a similar scheme to win the support of the public. "Malfoy's been using her to get to Harry Potter too, you know Harry's my best mate and all, so I've been hearing some things," Ronald told me on the street in front of his brother's still smoldering shop. "They were practically engaged once, Harry and Ginny, I mean. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy had a hand in setting the shop on fire either, just to show off saving it. Well, maybe not, but I would not be surprised in the least."_

_In a move that could mean nothing, but may perhaps be quite telling indeed, Draco Malfoy refused outright to be interviewed. While the accusations made against him are presently unsupported by hard evidence, it's certainly a story that bears watching, and I, for one, am seriously considering a lateral career shift to sports journalism._

Malfoy scanned through the article and sank heavily onto the edge of the bed. Far from being angry, though he knew that would come later, he felt defeated. The past was never far behind, it seemed, just waiting to be thrown in his face every time he entered the public eye. Without a doubt, the article would make some of the professional Quidditch teams reconsider him as a draft choice.

More importantly, it made clear to him exactly what a poor match for Ginny Weasley he really was. This constant negative attention was certainly not something she deserved.

xxxxx

Ginny stopped at Malfoy's door. Was he already on the practice pitch? He usually waited for her in the hall, unless one or the other of them was running late.

As she raised her hand to knock, the door unlocked, and she remembered that the onsite healer had charmed it to let her in. It had never been put back to the way it had started out, as Malfoy had apparently never felt the need.

"Malfoy?" she called, pushing the door open slowly. "Are you still here?"

He was, indeed; he sat on the edge of the bed, glancing up at her from his copy of the Daily Prophet. He looked preoccupied, but when he noticed her, he shoved the newspaper aside and stood.

"Yes, sorry. We'd better go before we're late to practice," he said as he moved them both through the door and closed it behind them.

Practice was unusually tense, as Harry was there and he seemed to be in a worse mood than usual. He watched them like a hawk and critiqued Malfoy's flying almost constantly, so it was a relief to Ginny when Harry was distracted by a group of the Quidditch hopefuls who were intent on getting a flying demonstration out of him.

While Harry looped-the-loop and performed a dazzling array of other stunts to please his audience, she and Malfoy continued their training, progressing through a series of difficult maneuvers in pursuit of the Snitch designed both to catch the tricky little ball and to throw each other off its trail. Malfoy's game was off, she couldn't help but notice, and it had been all day, with or without Harry's criticisms. If they were to hold a practice scrimmage today, he would most likely lose.

Then again, he wasn't the only one who was having difficulty maintaining focus. She couldn't help but remember how pensive he'd looked when she found him in his room - had there been something in the paper he'd been reading? There had been that run-in with Rita Skeeter yesterday, but he'd given her nothing when she'd tried to interview him. How much could the woman possibly make up on her own?

Or… perhaps the newspaper was just incidental, and he was preoccupied with something else. Could his distracted state be a result of what had happened between them on the way back to the dormitory the night before? He had seemed rather distant when she'd come to find him, and that feeling had continued throughout practice. What if… what if he regretted it? She hadn't meant for it to go that far; one minute she'd been chasing after him playfully, and the next… she had just wanted to kiss him. She couldn't really explain why. It had been an impulse, and he had appeared to be willing. But… perhaps in hindsight, he had decided it wasn't something he wanted after all.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She needed to focus on practice.

A shout from Malfoy called her attention back to reality. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't seen a stray Bludger hurtling through the air in their direction, which Malfoy had already dodged, until it was too late to turn out of its path. Her eyes widened in horror; she was going to take the hit, and on top of that, she had no idea how far she was from the ground because she hadn't been paying attention. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, trying to prepare for the hit…

The impact came, but it was from something much larger and softer than a Bludger. She was pulled off her broom, her hands slipping easily from the handle, and a split second later she was on the ground, rolling in a cage of strong arms wrapped around her until the momentum of the fall was lost.

Cautiously opening one eye, she looked up, and found Malfoy crouched over her, his hair disheveled and bits of grass stuck all over him. It had been his arms around her, she realized; he had jumped from his broom and knocked her out of the Bludger's way and fallen to the ground with her. It couldn't have been a drop of more than a few feet, fortunately.

"Keep your head in the game, Weasley. That damn Bludger almost took it off," he muttered, panting softly as he looked around for the source of the Bludger. "Who hit that bloody thing? We're not doing agility trials today…"

"What the hell is going on here?" a voice both familiar and annoying broke in. Ginny and Malfoy looked up to find Harry standing over them. "I ought to have you thrown out, Malfoy, for indecent behavior."

Malfoy was already rising to meet Harry's challenge as the dark-haired man reached down to haul him up by his shirt. Malfoy shook Harry's hand loose and stepped uncomfortably close to Harry.

"I could say the same of you, for abandoning your duties. Weasley almost got hit by a rogue Bludger, and where were you? Off flying in circles and showing off you your fan club?" Malfoy spat. "You're the only one in our group with a bloody _wand, _Potter. Her safety is _your _responsibility."

"A rogue Bludger at a Quidditch practice? That's a convenient excuse, seeing as there aren't any agility trials scheduled for today," Harry replied venomously as he overreacted to the sting of Malfoy's comment about Ginny's safety. That he could think Harry would endanger her… "If I'm really going to look out for Ginny's safety, perhaps I shouldn't be letting her around the likes of you!"

"What's that supposed to mean, Potter?" Malfoy growled, his voice laced with menace as he took another step in Harry's direction, bringing them within inches of each other.

"I know harassment when I see it," the dark-haired man accused. "Not only a Death Eater but now a molester as well-"

It was unclear who threw the first punch, but the heated words had deteriorated into the two of them brawling on the ground before Ginny could get up and intervene. Her shouts for them to stop went unheeded as years of anger and rivalry boiled to the surface. It seemed clear to Ginny that either Harry had forgotten his wand or couldn't get to it, for the fight remained physical without any hexes being thrown.

The altercation quickly caught the attention of the entire field, including Oliver Wood and Gwenog Jones, who rushed to intercede. A blast of purple light from Oliver's wand sent the two flying apart, and as quickly as both of them could attempt to get up and rush at one another again, both were immobilized.

"What the hell is going on here?" Gwenog demanded, looking to Ginny for answers as the immobilized combatants couldn't speak.

"I was nearly hit by a stray Bludger and Malfoy knocked me out of the way," she said carefully. "That

should have been the end of it, but… Harry didn't take it well, the way Malfoy appeared, and he didn't seem to believe that there was a Bludger at all. He said some things that, frankly, were inexcusable."

"A Bludger?" Oliver asked, confused. "There's nothing like that kind of training on the schedule today… I mean, anything can happen at Quidditch practice, of course, but…"

"I think I know who it was," Gwenog sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I was off working with some of the weaker recruits, but Peakes and Coote have been acting rather squirrelly all day. I told them to keep to their own task, but they kept looking over to this part of the pitch. Damn it all, what could they have been thinking?"

"I rather wonder if it was me they meant to hit," Ginny said softly. The very idea that someone could intentionally try to hit someone else with a Bludger in practice… "Malfoy was on my flank only seconds before but he dodged it. I think they meant to aim for him."

"I'll get to the bottom of it," Gwenog assured her. "There will be suitable disciplinary action. As for these two…"

Gwenog waved her wand again, and Harry and Malfoy's paralysis lifted.

"Don't," Gwenog said warningly as they seemed ready to attack each other once more. "Mr. Malfoy, fighting in Quidditch training is completely unacceptable and will not be tolerated. However, as your altercation was with an instructor who should have known better, and moreover would not hear you out on the matter that caused this situation to arise, you will receive a warning and will be suspended for the remainder of the day. This incident will have to be noted in your record, and it will likely hurt your chances of being picked up by some teams that demand a sterling level of decorum. Be thankful you aren't being kicked out."

Harry gave Malfoy a smug look, the expression vanishing as Gwenog turned to him.

"Mr. Potter… it is a grave thing to have an instructor involved in such an incident," she said, her expression one of severity. "It is not your place to indulge old grudges on the field of practice. Moreover, I noticed earlier that you were not at your post, and the near-accident that led to this incident may well have been avoided had you been where you were supposed to be. As it stands, you were given a reasonable explanation for the scene upon which you stumbled. Why did you not accept it?"

"I know what Malfoy is," Harry replied defiantly. "I know what he's capable of, and recent information has come to light that leads me to believe that Ginny needs to be protected from him."

"This doesn't have to do with a certain article in today's Daily Prophet, does it?" Oliver asked, catching on at last while Ginny still looked on in confusion.

"What if it does?" Harry snapped. "What if Ginny doesn't see him for the snake that he is? Shouldn't I protect her if I can? Shouldn't _you?_"

"Enough of this!" Ginny cried out in frustration. "Harry, I do not need to be protected from Malfoy or anyone else, and even if I did, I wouldn't want you to be the one to do it. Not after all that's happened, and especially not after today."

"Ginny, listen-" Harry began, but Gwenog cut him off.

"Potter, it's clear that you are unable to work out whatever it is that is going on between you and Malfoy, and the same can be said of the issues between you and Weasley. They have attempted to train under your instruction to the best of their ability, but your inability to control your feelings is not only detrimental to their training but has led to a mark on Malfoy's record that may prevent him from playing professionally."

"He deserves no less," Harry said coldly.

"… Very well. If that's your answer," Gwenog said stiffly, "then you are hereby dismissed as an instructor. You will receive no negative marks as that is not within my power, but you will not be asked to coach again while I'm in charge of the tryout process."

"That's bloody ridiculous! It should be _him _that you're throwing out on his ass, not the best bloody Seeker in the league!" Harry shouted until Oliver's hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Harry… shut up and go," the Puddlemere co-captain said quietly, "or there _will _be a note made in your file, as that is within _my _power."

"Yeah? Fine. If that's how you want it, then fine. But you…" Harry said, his voice laced with bitterness as he pointed at Malfoy. "You're not fit to be around her. If you really were her _friend, _you'd see how bad for her you are, like the rest of us do."

With that, Harry turned and stormed off the field. Gwenog heaved a sigh and waved a dismissive hand at Malfoy, who immediately set off in the opposite direction, toward the dorm.

"Ah, Weasley…" Gwenog said, eyeing Ginny as an afterthought. "You're dismissed for the day, as you haven't got a training partner, and I daresay this was probably quite upsetting. It isn't a punishment. And… Weasley… You should understand that I gave Malfoy the minimum punishment possible for his actions."

"Yes ma'am," Ginny replied hastily, scrabbling to collect their brooms as Malfoy had been upset enough to forget his. She dashed off the field, making for the dorm in a hurry.

"Harry's not usually… that is, he doesn't typically cause problems," Oliver said, addressing Gwenog apologetically. "Well, now that I think of it, he sort of does, it seemed like there was always some problem or other when he was at Hogwarts, but it's always been more like trouble follows him. He doesn't usually start it like this."

"Well, love makes fools of us all," Gwenog remarked dryly as she scanned the sky for the pair of players she wanted. "And speaking of fools… _Peakes! Coote! _Get down here!"

xxxxx

Ginny hurried down the hall toward Malfoy's room, both brooms in hand. She juggled them into the crook of her arm as she lifted her hand to open the door, but to her surprise, the door remained locked.

Malfoy had reset the door at last.

She knocked on the door loudly, her lips pressed into a narrow line, but there was no answer.

xxxxx

Malfoy leaned on the sink in his bathroom, head hanging as he ignored the insistent knocking on his door. It had to be Weasley, for no one else would come looking for him, but he felt he couldn't face her. As it stood, he'd have a black eye by morning and his Quidditch career was probably over before it even got started as well. Potter was right, damn it all. Not about him attempting to harass her, of course, but that he was bad for her… that assertion couldn't be questioned. He was completely unworthy all around.

He would have to pull back from her, and that hurt most of all.

So, he was here, at the sink, water dripping from his face into the basin below. He tried to ignore the painful clenching in his chest, the feeling that drove him here in the first place, because crying was not something that men did, but if you went to the bathroom and washed your face, what difference did a few tears make? It was a trick of which he'd made frequent use during those dark days of his sixth year at Hogwarts, a time he didn't particularly care to remember… yet it was that year, a year of constant fear and forced decisions, that had become the past he now could not escape.

He glanced in the mirror again, surveying the darkening skin around his eye and brushing away the trailing droplets that were most certainly not water from the sink.

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**A/N: I promise, I won't make Malfoy all sad-bastard for too long, so stick with him!**

**My thanks to bitemyheadoff, Aikoyu Saotome, Nutmeg44, darinmeg, shana rose, Princess Phoenix Tears, Kay8abc, and Nacilme for their awesome reviews since the last update. I'll make every effort to update again soon.  
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	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated M for a bit of sexual content.  
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**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
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**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: I'm sorry for the gap in updating. I can't believe it's been three weeks. As I mentioned in the last update, I got bad news and had to go out of town. My grandmother passed away unexpectedly and I've only just gotten back. Thank you for your patience, and I really hope those of you who have been following this story are still interested! This chapter is a little longer than usual to make up for the wait.  
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**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 20: Observation and Confrontation  
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It was a long time before Malfoy opened his door again. He stayed in the bathroom for hours, tears long since dried, indistinguishable from the sink water that he'd splashed over his face, leaving lank bits of dampened hair hanging in his face. He'd quickly grown weary of seeing his face in the mirror, a traitorous expression of sadness and self-loathing etched on his features, and had spent most of his time sitting on the floor with his back to the cool tiles that covered the lower half of the wall.

It was all he could do not to think of the Weaslette as he cast his gaze around the room; the night she'd slipped and fallen on him in the tub, nearly drowning him, the morning she'd been sick in his toilet after too much drinking the night before, the worry that had pinched her face when she thought they'd done more that night than they had.

Truthfully, had he not been so inebriated at the time, he might have done it. The Weaslette was quite good looking, after all, and at some point the usual qualifying statement of _even if she is a Weasley _had ceased to apply. Malfoy wondered when that had stopped being a concern, but no matter how much he turned it over in his head, he couldn't pin it down. At some point over the past few months, without him even noticing, it had just faded away… as he would now have to fade away from her.

He was long past the point of cursing Potter and the Daily Prophet under his breath. The fact was that none of their allegations against him would have hurt half as much if there hadn't been a grain of truth in them. The Weaslette - _Ginny_, he thought to himself, trying the name out in his mind - would be better off without the shadow of his reputation hanging over her. He was already well aware of the extent to which his past actions haunted him, and he'd be damned if he would pass that onto someone he cared for.

He wondered when that had started, too. He knew the feeling had been there for some time, lingering dormant until fueled by some altercation with Potter or Wood, when it manifested as a protective, possessive streak he hadn't previously known he possessed. He was vulnerable where she was concerned, too; the Weaslette represented an enormous weakness in his defenses that he didn't particularly care for anyone to know about. Yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide, for with every conflict that arose over the redheaded girl, he felt he revealed a little more of that weakness, and it was only a matter of time before it was correctly interpreted by some particularly astute observer.

He wouldn't call it more than an inordinate fondness. To call it more would be dangerously indulgent.

Malfoy figured Wood knew, since the man seemed to be going after Ginny too, and he was more than a little certain that George Weasley was putting the pieces together as well. So far, however, Ginny remained ignorant of the extent of his feelings, and her infernal brother Ron and Potter were as obtuse as ever. The best course of action, he decided, was to keep it that way.

When he finally did venture into the hall hours later after having showered away the smell of Quidditch practice, acknowledging at last the dinner he'd missed and going out in search of food, he'd been surprised at what he'd found. Weasley was there, huddled in a ball outside his door, asleep with her head leaning against the wall. His broomstick was leaned against the wall next to her, and until he spotted it he hadn't even realized he'd left behind in his hurry to depart the pitch earlier that day. She had at least left to change out of her Quidditch gear and had presumably showered as well, for she wore clean clothes and smelled pleasantly of soap.

His heart clenched as he realized her eyelids were red and puffy, as they had been when she'd returned from that nasty argument with Potter a few nights before. This time, she'd cried over him, because he shut her out; that much was obvious, and the realization threatened to bring him to tears again. Yet how much more would she cry, how much would she have to endure, if he allowed his life to taint hers?

It couldn't be denied, for it had already begun. That article in the Prophet had painted her as a victim, but it was just a hair's breadth from implying her duplicity in his alleged scheming. It couldn't be allowed to go any further.

On the other hand, he could hardly leave her in the hall.

He leaned down and took hold of her shoulder, shaking her gently; the motion drew a sleepy mumble from her, but she didn't wake. A more firmly applied attempt yielded no better results. Malfoy heaved a sigh. Weasley could sleep like a rock, he'd noticed on previous occasions, and once she was out there was often no waking her until she woke on her own. He supposed that in the course of growing up in a house filled with other people, she had to learn to sleep through anything.

After retrieving his broom and putting it away, he knelt at her side and lifted her in his arms. She was still bloody heavy, he noted with quiet amusement as he carried her across the hall to her room. Her door opened for him, unsurprisingly, but he felt a twinge of sadness as he realized his door wouldn't be opening for her any longer.

Once inside, he nudged the door shut with his foot, shielding them from nosy, prying eyes that might wander by, and made his way to the bed. He arranged her carefully on top of it, thinking back briefly to the night he'd spent here, tired and slightly drunk. Now he had no such excuse, but he felt a longing nonetheless, a desire to sleep surrounded by the smell of her again, to wake to the feeling of her warmth once more.

He wouldn't give in to that urge. It would only make keeping his distance all the more difficult and would send her the wrong message completely in the process. Yet as he looked at her, he couldn't help but think how beautiful she was, innocent and soft, as though her troubles melted away when she slept. One would never be able to tell by looking at her sleeping face that the war had ever come to her family's door, or that Potter had inflicted his idiocy on her yet again that very day.

He wondered if he looked as peaceful when he was asleep. Somehow, he doubted it.

Her lips parted slightly as she breathed. They looked soft and pink, though slightly wind-chapped from flying as always. Malfoy was transfixed by them, memories of kissing them thoroughly only yesterday flooding through his mind with agonizing clarity, and before he could stop himself he had leaned forward and was kissing her again, his lips moving gently against hers. She moaned softly in her sleep, shifting invitingly onto her back without pulling away from him. He rested a steadying hand on her belly, hoping to soothe her back into restfulness, but to his surprise, she moaned again and rolled her hips in a way that was far more than merely suggestive.

She was dreaming now, he realized, for her breaths came slightly faster, occasionally bearing a soft whimper from between her parted lips. He had to leave, before he did anything rash; those few soft sounds she had made had traveled straight to his groin, and the motion of her hips had only stirred his interest further. A thought came to him, and he acted on it, rashly, as he'd feared he might. His lips found her neck, sucking softly at the point where her pulse beat just beneath her skin, fluttering like her heart was a caged thing intent on escape. His hand idly rubbed her belly, but it was all he would do; there was a fine line between putting someone to bed and molesting them in their sleep, and he was already toeing it without quite going over. He'd be damned if he was going to lend any credence to Potter's baser accusations now.

It was apparently enough. After a few moments of his fairly innocent touch and the caress of his lips on her neck, coupled with whatever dream was floating through her head, she moaned again, then tensed and shuddered with a ragged, panting gasp. Malfoy pulled back, started as he realized what had just happened. He waited as her breathing calmed to see if she would wake, holding his own breath as he did so… but she didn't, instead rolling away onto her side with an unintelligible murmur. A few seconds later, she began to snore softly.

Flushing deeply, Malfoy rose from the bed and slipped noiselessly to the door, exiting and closing it as quietly as possible behind him. He crossed the hall and entered his room quickly, flopping onto his own bed and struggling to breathe evenly as he replayed what he'd just seen in his mind. Merlin, had that really happened? Had Ginny really responded to him so… so readily? Of course, she could have been dreaming about anyone, but still…

It had been a long time since he'd been a teenager who might quite suddenly feel on the verge of coming in his pajama bottoms, even over something like that, but nonetheless he was there. His erection ached as if he'd had it for hours, giving a twitch here and there as he thought of what he'd just seen. He rolled onto his stomach, pinning his rebellious member beneath him. He wouldn't relieve it, not now, not over this; he wasn't the sort of person who would touch someone in their sleep, however slightly, and then use it to gratify himself.

Malfoy grabbed his pillow and pressed his face into it, muffling a frustrated groan. Though he was exhausted from the events of the day, mentally, emotionally, and physically, it was a long, torturous hour before his body finally calmed, and another two before his mind followed suit and finally allowed him to sleep.

xxxxx

Ginny woke up feeling oddly refreshed, the light of yet another warm summer day pouring in through her window. The events of the previous day lingered at the edges of her consciousness: Harry's unpleasantness, Malfoy's suspension and subsequent avoidance of her, that damned article in the Prophet that someone had left lying around in the lounge, her frustrated tears as she waited in futility for Malfoy to open his door; yet she felt somehow relieved of the tension those burdens had created in her.

There had been a dream, she vaguely recalled. As she thought about it, snatches of detail became clear, making her flush crimson and squeal into her pillow as she hid her face in it. Yet there was a delighted quality to her embarrassment, for dreams were known only to the dreamer, and therefore she could secretly revel all she wanted in the fabricated memory of warm skin against hers, their lips crushing together, his hardness pressed against her thigh. That part of the dream was at least a little bit real, scavenged by her sleeping brain from a memory of that time only days ago when she'd woken to find him pressed against her bum as he'd slept; the kissing, too, had been shockingly real, taken from the time they'd actually kissed. But the part of the dream that perplexed her was the distinct feeling of his hand lingering teasingly on her belly. She'd wanted, ached for it to go lower, and in the dream it finally had… but she wondered what had sparked such a sensation in the first place.

Of course, it was only a dream. It wasn't like it all had to come from somewhere.

As she looked around, she realized she didn't even remember going to bed. The last thing she remembered was curling up uncomfortably outside of Malfoy's door, her face wet with tears. Could it be that her wait outside his room hadn't been futile after all, only she'd fallen asleep before he'd emerged? Of course, it could just as easily have been the case that Oliver had come along and found her there… but somehow, she just didn't think so.

xxxxx

Ginny's good mood had evaporated by the end of training. When she'd met Malfoy in the hall that morning, he had avoided making eye contact with her, and when she did finally get a good look at him she had found dark shadows under his eyes. His face bore all the hallmarks of a rough day followed by a restless night, and she couldn't help but feel guilty that she'd slept so well, dreaming pleasantly of him while he was clearly troubled.

Damn Harry, anyway. At least he wouldn't be attending training any longer… but it seemed the damage had been done. Malfoy barely spoke to her all day, and when he did it was strictly professional. Even more troubling was his flying; though technically proficient, it was spiritless, as though he was only going through the motions rather than really engaging in the activity as he always had before.

That alone pissed her off more than anything. Bad enough there was a mark on his record now, which wasn't so bad on its own but when coupled with his dark past as a Death Eater would be bound to scare off some teams that might otherwise be inclined to offer him a position, but if he flew like this for the scouts that would be observing them during the final month of training… Ginny seethed at the thought that Malfoy might blow his chances at attaining his dream over the absolute nonsense Harry had spewed at him.

No, she thought bitterly; that could not be allowed to stand.

xxxxx

Oliver Wood observed the training session with a keen eye. The players flew in the usual organized chaos, the pattern of their flight easily discernable to the trained eye. Oliver was more than trained; he lived Quidditch. He breathed it. It was a part of him, and always had been.

He could recognize that quality in others, too. His team at Hogwarts had been built of people who had that special affinity for the sport. Even Harry Potter, who had not known the sport had existed prior to coming to Hogwarts, had immediately shown a proper zeal for it. Of course, he would; he'd been chosen by Professor McGonagall, and she had a similar gift of scrutiny.

The Weasleys were a rare breed. Nearly all of them were gifted in the sport, except Percy who had been in Oliver's year. It had been something of a disappointment to learn that the younger brother of the nearly-legendary Seeker Charlie Weasley had essentially no interest in the actual game, beyond a peculiar fixation with the regulations as administered by the Department of Magical Games and Sports. But when Fred and George had come to Hogwarts, Oliver knew he'd struck gold, and he'd recommended them for the team as soon as he reasonably could.

Watching Ginny play Seeker was like watching a younger, female Charlie Weasley. Her style was her own, but it echoed that of her older brother beautifully. He knew she'd been an excellent Chaser when she'd played for Gryffindor, but as a Seeker she could truly shine, and she usually did. However, she was not shining particularly today.

The problem, as Oliver saw it, was Malfoy. The younger man had lost his edge, apparently in reaction to Harry's unfortunate outburst the day before. Oliver was livid with Harry. The raven-haired man had shamed both himself and his team's co-captain, along with his team's very reputation and good name, but that wasn't the worst of it. No, what Harry had done was far worse; he had let a petty personal rivalry become more important than the game itself, and had dashed another's enthusiasm for the noble sport of Quidditch. That was unacceptable.

It was a problem that had plagued Harry in their Hogwarts days. He had always flown above and beyond the call of his position when he flew against Slytherin, against Malfoy, but more than a few games played against other teams had slipped through their fingers because Harry just hadn't taken Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw seriously, a fact that had pained Oliver greatly. Cedric Diggory had been a bloody brilliant Seeker in his own right, and had he lived, he might now be occupying Harry's place on the Puddlemere United team, but Harry had never grasped Cedric's greatness, his elegance in the air, his love for the game. Harry had tunnel vision where rivals were concerned, either focusing on them to the exclusion of all else or dismissing them out of hand, and in neither case would he admit that they possessed the potential to best him.

Oliver didn't like to think what he'd have to deal with if Malfoy was picked up by a team, but as co-captain of Puddlemere United, that was his cross to bear, and he certainly didn't believe Malfoy didn't deserve the chance. Facing challenging rivals was part of the game, and the nobility of Quidditch demanded that even the likes of Malfoy be given a fair shake… perhaps _especially _the likes of Malfoy. In Quidditch, old grievances did not matter, a tarnished past did not matter, money and blood status did not matter. Quidditch was above these things.

If Malfoy didn't get it together and fly properly, Oliver would have to have a little chat with him. Otherwise, his career in Quidditch really _would _end before it began.

xxxxx

As the day's training ended, Malfoy fled from the pitch as quickly as possible, heedless of Ginny's voice as she called after him. He had flown miserably, he knew, and it shamed him to think of how his poor flying had affected her training, for he could tell she hadn't been flying her best either. He didn't know what to do about it, because at some point, presumably the same nebulous point at which he had begun to have feelings for her, she had become a critical element in his ability to fly well. It sounded stupid to him as he thought of it, yet he knew it was true; if he kept his distance from her, he couldn't fly. It was that simple.

Except for the fact that nothing about this was simple, not after the time they'd spent together, not after she'd cried in front of him, not after they'd kissed… and certainly not after last night.

So what was he going to do about it?

That question was about to be answered for him. As he made to close his door behind him, he found it blocked by a hastily inserted foot. A moment later the door was wrenched open, and he found himself face-to-face with a livid Ginny Weasley, her chocolate-brown eyes burning with a ferocity that was more than a little intimidating.

"Weasley?" he asked cautiously, hoping not to set her off, whatever she was angry over.

"What the hell was that today?" she bellowed fiercely, her eyes seeming to spark like fire. "What was that pitiful goddamned spectacle you put on out there supposed to be? Because I can sure as hell tell you what it wasn't: _flying!_"

"I was just having an off day," he replied evasively. "Not that it's any of your business…"

"_Not any of my business?_" she screeched. "Let me tell _you _about my _business. _It's my business when my _partner _flies like he's got his broomstick lodged in his backside instead of between his goddamn legs where it belongs! It's my _business _when you decide not to take _our _training seriously just because Harry said something stupid to you yesterday!"

"Weasley, I…"

"Or is this about that stupid article in the Daily Prophet? Because if you think I give a _damn _what Rita Skeeter has to say…"

"Weasley!" he barked sharply, startling her into silence. "Just… shut it… already. You're giving me a headache."

"Oh, I'm _sorry, _Mr. High-and-Mighty Malfoy," she retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm. "I thought the topic of you tanking your Quidditch career might merit discussion, but if you've got a _headache…_"

"Look, I just... Bloody hell, Weasley, don't you get it yet?" he snapped. "I'm no good for you. You're better off without me, and if that means I don't get to be a Quidditch player, then so be it!"

"… Is that what you think?" she asked, aghast. "You actually believe that tripe the Prophet printed?"

"It's what everybody believes, Weasley," he sighed brokenly. "You're better off if I'm gone, if only because the rest of the world will never see past my Dark Mark."

"Well, the rest of the world can just bugger off!" she said hotly. "It isn't up to them to decide who I'm allowed to be friends with!"

_And can you really say we're only friends? _Malfoy thought, but he kept the words to himself.

"Besides," Ginny continued, "it isn't like I didn't know from the beginning who you used to be. I'm friends with you because I like who you are. So unless you're going to tell me right here, right now, that you honestly don't want to be my friend, I'm going to consider the matter settled, and I'll expect you to be in top form at practice tomorrow."

Malfoy opened his mouth but found it dry, his throat refusing to let him speak. Rather than stand there gaping like a fish, he snapped it shut and nodded.

"Good. I'm glad we have an understanding," she replied, and without another word, she left the room, not even bothering to close his door behind her.

Malfoy stared at the open door, utterly stunned. He hadn't expected, wouldn't have dreamed in a million years, that she would actually fight for him. Certainly, she had fought with her brother Ron and with Potter _over _him, but that she was actually willing to fight for him, to keep him in her life… no, Malfoy hadn't seen that coming at all.

He blinked in surprise as another figure darkened his doorway, this one smirking with ill-suppressed amusement.

"That was… quite something," Oliver remarked as he surveyed Malfoy, who was standing there looking for all the world as though someone had just punched him in the gut.

"What do you want, Wood?" the blond snapped irritably as he came back to himself.

"I was just coming to see you, thinking you needed a little talking-to over your performance today," Oliver replied with a smile. "I presume that is no longer going to be necessary. You'll be flying much better tomorrow, I take it?"

"Damn right, I will," Malfoy replied, a wolfish grin spreading across his face in response to what he perceived as a challenge from Oliver Wood. "After I have a little chat with Peakes and Coote for hitting a Bludger at me yesterday, that is."

"Oh dear," Oliver said serenely as he turned to leave. "I'm going to have to pretend I didn't hear that."

* * *

**A/N: I hope you like this chapter! It's been a long time coming, but I simply didn't have the time to put an update together with everything that's been going on (see author's note in the chapter heading.) And it's now been an additional couple of days, because updating for some Harry Potter stories has been broken, but here it is at last! I hope people are still interested in it. If you like it, please review and let me know!**

**My thanks to curlygurly82, darinmeg, amethyst-rose, Nutmeg44, Princess Pheonix Tears, Kay8abc, Nacilme, Aikoyu Saotome, Greenstuff, Nieve-onza, bitemyheadoff, crimsonriley, lilymalfoy12, Mitra Laramie, RydenStewart, shana rose, Celestial Moon Lady, and dyk3adellic for your reviewing awesomeness!**

**I got so many reviews during the time I was out of town, and I really want to thank everyone who reviewed. Those reviews really helped to keep me going during the aftermath of my grandmother's death, so I cannot thank my reviewers enough for leaving them! Thank you! =)**


	21. Interlude II, Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated T.  
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**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Again, sorry for the gap in updates. Real-life stuff continues to take the reins more often than I'd like. This update is a bit longer than usual to make up for it, and oh, hey, it's time for another interlude of first-person George! He really helps to get me writing again when I'm in a slump.  
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* * *

**The Name of the Game**

_**Interlude II**_

Oi, Fred. Things are going to get interesting very shortly. By which I mean, in all likelihood, sometime tomorrow evening.

Remind me again, what did I tell you last vis-à-vis our sister and a certain Malfoy?

Oh, right. The Harry incident. You know, Fred, Harry's always been like a brother to us. That isn't always a good thing. Lately he's been brother-like in the way Ron actually _is _our brother. I'm obligated to treat him like family, but sometimes I feel like I could just take him out back to the broom shed and beat him for being so senseless. Honestly, he's being a prat of almost Percy-like proportions about this Malfoy business.

But you know, it's largely Ron's fault, talking to that Skeeter woman. It was a dreadful mess of an article. I can't imagine what he was thinking. Well, yes, I can. That's the sad thing. My advice, Fred? Don't even try. It will only leave you disappointed at having an idiot for a brother.

The point, though, is that Harry made quite a mess of things, according to Oliver. Ol' actually thought Malfoy would wash out of training, can you believe that? You've seen that kid fly. He's always been tenacious. It takes a fair bit to shake an ego like he's got when he's on a broom. He's like us that way. He used to have it all the time, though, didn't he, not just when he was in the air. Maybe he still does, a bit… What I mean is, Fred, when did we ever fly badly when we were together? Before my ear, at any rate…

Maybe we didn't have it completely together on the pitch during that thing with Angelina Johnson. I still have regrets, Fred. You should have gone for it, and I'm sorry I got in the way. I just wasn't wasn't ready to lose my twin brother to a girl. There's some irony in this, I think...

But that just proves my point, doesn't it? It's so obvious that our little Draco has got it bad for Ginny. They're both flying well enough to make the grade again, but there's been a regrettable lack of any forward movement for weeks. No gossip to be had whatsoever, according to Oliver. And I don't think this thing with Harry is done by a long shot, either, especially not if Ron continues to egg him on. On top of which, they'll all be at the Quidditch gala tomorrow night.

Sure, I know, nothing's certain yet as far as who will make it onto a team, but you and I both know Ginny will. Malfoy will, too, I think. He's got a mark against him and all, but someone will pick him up. He's just too _interesting _to pass up, don't you agree? Yes, I think everyone will be making it to the gala after all.

Can you imagine what'll happen if Malfoy gets picked for Chudley? Ron would absolutely die. 'Course, I think Malfoy will quit before he'll wear Cannons orange.

Anyway, speaking of the gala, it's black-tie… but you know, I think I'll wear the eggplant-purple dress robes. What do you call it? Right. _Aubergine. _Black just isn't my color. Oh, right, I didn't tell you that yet. I'm going to the gala too.

Which reminds me, Fred, I don't think Ron knows that the Quidditch gala attendees aren't required to bring a member of the opposite sex. For example, Harry could just take Ron and Ginny could bring Hermione, all as friends, and things would be far less awkward all around. As far as I know, though, the plan for Ginny to take Ron and for Harry to take Hermione still stands, with some sort of ill-advised plan to swap dates in the works as well, at least on Ron and Harry's parts. Hermione has more sense than to be part of that, dear girl. Poor Gin. I wouldn't want to take Ron anywhere.

What will Ron think, I wonder, when he finds out Oliver is taking yours truly? How long will it take him to puzzle this one out? Not that there's much of anything to puzzle out, just yet. But still… it might be nice if there was.

* * *

_**Chapter 21: Summer's End**** / Starlight**_

Ginny heaved a sigh. Training was over. There was a sort of sad, melancholy feeling in the air, or maybe it was just in her. Tomorrow would be her last night in the dormitory, if she was chosen for a team; if not… her last night would be tonight.

She and Malfoy would be going their separate ways soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow morning.

The pitch was empty, the other trainees at dinner. The sun hung low in the sky, bathing the pitch in deep honey and amber tones. The sunset toward the end of summer always made her feel somewhat melancholy; most people saw fall as the beginning of things like the holiday season and school, but for her, it was always the beginning of the end of summer's warmth, the end of another year of her life, leaving her with a feeling of regret over things left undone. Of course, that made sense. Today was not only the last day of training, but her birthday as well.

She kicked off the ground much more softly than she would in practice or gameplay, letting the broom's momentum carry her lazily upward into the brilliant orange sky. There was a strong breeze blowing, and she allowed it to carry her off of a perfectly vertical trajectory. It felt good to drift, to let nature dictate her course for the moment.

She hadn't done badly this year. She was on the verge of being picked up by Holyhead; that letter should be arriving sometime that very evening. She'd remade her life into what she wanted it to be. It was last year around this time that she'd split from Harry, after his first year of professional Quidditch. That August had been a rough month, a time when they were apart but it had not yet been made public. That was the year he'd told everyone she was ill and couldn't attend the Quidditch gala; in reality, she just couldn't bear to fake it in front of everyone.

When the split happened, she had gone back to the Burrow while he had kept the apartment they had shared; it had been his before she moved in. She hated every fight they'd had there, including the one earlier in the summer, because it had always felt like his territory. She had thought he might get a new place, one that didn't hold so many memories of her, but if there was one thing that was quintessentially Harry, it was the fact that he didn't let things go. Ginny felt a twinge of guilt as she thought this; as an orphan, Harry couldn't easily let go of anyone once he'd gotten attached to them, and that wasn't really his fault. There had been a time in her life when it had actually been incredibly appealing.

She sometimes wondered if Harry had kept Malfoy out of Azkaban because on some level he couldn't bear to let _him _go, either, though Harry would never admit such a thing. It wasn't that Harry liked Malfoy; he clearly didn't, not in the least, but rather, Malfoy had a place in Harry's life. Ginny sometimes thought that if Harry could have frozen them all in his third or fourth year, with his two best friends by his side, Malfoy as his constant antagonist, and herself as the invisible girl puppying along after him, Harry just might have done so.

Ginny shook her head. That was senseless thought to have, and maybe an uncharitable one. Nonetheless, she felt it was true that Harry was on some level unwilling to let any of them grow to be more than they were then. To him, Malfoy's eventual transition to a Death Eater had been inevitable and predicted, while he completely rejected the notion of Malfoy as he was now. Similarly, she would always need to be looked after in his eyes like the child she had once been.

Ginny didn't really believe Malfoy was that different than he had been then, though older and very probably wiser. If he seemed better now, it was probably only because he hadn't been that bad to begin with. Harry's perceptions hadn't changed either. The two of them were so very different from each other; Harry had defeated Voldemort once already when he was only a baby, and it was like he somehow knew he would be able to do it again. He was outwardly worried but fearless on the inside. Malfoy was, and always had been, the exact opposite; cocky for the world to see, and secretly afraid of a great many things, and to Ginny's knowledge he never defeated anyone at anything but Quidditch, unless besting Hermione on a potions exam counted. The only thing Harry truly feared was being alone. Malfoy seemed to want to be alone when he was afraid. The one thing they had in common was an infuriating tendency to isolate themselves in an attempt to insulate others from their actions.

She heaved another sigh as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the faint glow of fading twilight in its wake. The stars were showing now, and she remembered another night on another birthday when Malfoy had shown her the constellation for which he was named. She tried in vain to find that particular grouping of stars again. Was it even visible at this time of year? He had told her it was circumpolar, meaning it was almost always in the sky this far north, but she wouldn't know it from the rest of the glowing specks up there without it being pointed out again.

Ginny didn't want the summer to end.

xxxxx

Training was over; the team scouts had come and gone, and Malfoy felt confident that he'd made a favorable impression despite the now widely-circulated story of his altercation with Potter. When he was flying with Ginny, he just couldn't go wrong.

He wondered what it was going to be like to fly against her in a real game. The prospect was an exciting one, far more so than the idea of facing down Potter on the Quidditch pitch again. Somehow, that old rivalry paled in comparison to what he had with her.

Before he had been able to throw himself back into practice after that day with Potter, however, there had remained a loose end to tie up. If Peakes and Coote thought they were going to get away with hitting that bludger at him in the first place, they were sorely mistaken, and they would have to realize the enormity of their mistake before much time was allowed to pass.

So it came to be that when Malfoy spotted Jimmy Peakes in the hallway a few days later, he had shoved him into a closet where cleaning supplies were kept, as if the house elves needed them, with a strength and swiftness that surprised the more thickly built Beater. Though they weren't matched for size, and Peakes could probably have taken Malfoy in a physical fight, size did not necessarily equal might in the magical world, and Malfoy made certain that encounter was weighted in his favor. A wand jabbed against Peakes's ribs took care of that quite effectively.

The conversation that followed was over in less than three minutes, for it did not take much to remind Peakes that Malfoy had once been a Death Eater, and who knew the full extent of what he'd done (not altogether much, but Peakes didn't need to know that), and that while they were not allowed wands on the pitch during practice, Malfoy was more than capable of exacting retribution at a later time should a rogue bludger threaten himself or Ginny Weasley again.

Conveniently, Peakes readily agreed to pass his message on to Coote, saving Malfoy the trouble of seeking out the second Beater.

There had been no further incidents.

Malfoy wondered, thinking back on it as he wandered out to the pitch in the settling dusk, what exactly had driven him to threaten Peakes, aside from the fact that the pair of Beaters were an irritating couple of gits. Granted, a stray bludger could do serious damage, but it was more than that; something particular about Ginny being involved had set him off. He was reminded forcefully of a time in his fifth year, when the Weasley twins had reduced the school to chaos while Potter and company had set about some plan of their own. What it had been, Malfoy wasn't sure, because they'd been caught, but the part of the incident that stuck with him was the moment he'd happened upon Ginny, who had run afoul of the Inquisitorial Squad, and Longbottom of all people had tried to come to her aid. Something about the situation had made him feel like he might snap, and he'd chosen Longbottom, as the target for his fury.

Perhaps for his jealousy, as well.

He'd wondered about it occasionally afterward, when his father was in Azkaban, when he'd been forced to take the Mark, when he'd gone about carrying out the Dark Lord's orders for his family's sake; what was it about her?

He kept coming back to one answer: he had hated Longbottom for coming to her rescue, when he couldn't have himself. Did he know things then that most did not, of the Dark Lord's return, of _exactly _what happened to those who betrayed him? Yes, and for that reason, he could not have acted as he might have wished. He could not even be as brave as Neville Longbottom had been, however stupid it was. Yet, he could still protect her, for the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad wouldn't have hurt her without his permission, and it was Longbottom he shoved forward when he turned them in.

Perhaps it was a rather Slytherin way of protecting someone, but it was the best he could do at the time… and now, he could do more. Besides which, Longbottom had turned out alright in the end. No harm done, at least not by him.

And now, it was just a matter of protecting her from himself, from the shadows that dominated his life no matter how much light shone on them. That, he could manage; he had, in fact, been managing for weeks since that day when he'd fought with Potter. All he had to do was keep hidden from her the part of himself that wanted her. Compartmentalizing had always been his strong suit.

He reached the pitch, finding it bathed in faint, white starlight as the last light of day faded completely. He had known he would find her here. Not only was her broom absent along with her, well his broom really, when he'd checked her room, but Oliver Wood had rather helpfully supplied the fact that he'd seen her headed to the pitch when they happened to pass in the hall.

Something about that nagged at Malfoy, for Wood was being uncommonly helpful for someone who supposedly had an interest in Ginny. It didn't fit, but Malfoy had chosen to take it at face value, and sure enough, there she was, hovering in midair about forty feet up and staring skyward.

He simply watched her for a few minutes, noticing how she was letting the wind push her sideways across the pitch slightly faster than the pace of a snail. There was something beautiful about the way she looked so deeply lost in thought, the way she appeared to be up there with the stars above rather than simply below them, that stole his breath for an instant. Among the stars, she looked perfectly at home. He knew that when he took flight, the illusion would end, so he let the moment draw itself out a little longer.

When at last he rose to her side, she finally noticed him, shifting her gaze from the heavens and catching him with a sideways glance.

"You came looking for me?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing else to do," he replied with an easy shrug. "I saw you were gone, and Wood said you had come out here."

"It was my birthday today," she supplied, looking back up at the stars. "I was thinking of where I was last year, compared to now."

"Where were you last year?"

"I was living at home with my parents. I'd just left Harry… I was a mess," she murmured, the breeze nearly hiding her words, though Malfoy still heard them. "I was so lost… adrift, like this."

"And now?" he prodded.

"I don't really know. Not adrift, I suppose. I'm free of Harry, even if he doesn't seem to think so. I suppose a lot depends on whether I'm chosen for the Harpies. I've worked hard to get here."

"You'll be chosen," he stated matter-of-factly. "Gwenog has all but told you that you'll be on her team. She's just not allowed to say so until it's official."

"Do you really think so?" she asked, turning to face him.

"They'd be crazy not to want you," he answered with a confident smirk.

"What does that make you then?" she whispered softly, causing his smirk to vanish.

"Weasley…" he said warningly. "That isn't something I can just answer so easily."

She looked away from him again, her face pinched with tension.

"What did you come out here for?" she asked after an uncomfortable silence.

"I just wanted… I knew it was your birthday," he fumbled the words awkwardly, reaching into his pocket. "I got you something, and I wanted to give it to you."

His hand was cupped around something as he withdrew it from his pocket. With his free hand he took hers, holding it palm-up; he wasn't holding onto his broom, but it hardly mattered. He opened his hand, letting something drop into her palm: a pendant on the end of a long, thin, silver chain. The pendant itself was simple but elegant, a plain silver setting holding a single diamond that sparkled in the starlight.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, staring at it and then at him. "But… why?"

"I thought it would go well with your dress when you wear them to the gala tomorrow night," he replied.

"If I'm chosen," she said hesitantly.

"I told you already, you will be," he insisted. "I'm the one who should be worried, not you."

She looked at the pendant again and made to put it on, fumbling with the clasp as she tried to hold her hair out of the way.

"Here, let me," he offered, shifting his broom closer and slipping his hands beneath her hair. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her neck as he worked the delicate clasp between his fingers.

"Don't drop it," she cautioned.

"I'm a Seeker. If I dropped it, I'd still catch it before it hit the ground," he murmured, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Besides, I won't drop it. I've been doing this since I was five."

Ginny pulled back slightly and shot him a perplexed look that made him laugh softly.

"My mother. She used to ask me to help her with her jewelry from time to time," he clarified. "She's always gone to a lot of society affairs, and it added up."

"I suppose she has huge necklaces with dozens of diamonds on them?" Ginny laughed along with him.

"Dozens if not hundreds, and probably that many necklaces, too. Not only diamonds, either," he answered. "It's sort of the Malfoy standard."

"So this," she said lightly, letting her hand fall to the pendant as he finished fastening it, "is fairly cheap by Malfoy standards?"

His hand trailed along the chain, finally coming to rest atop hers; he raised his other hand to her face and traced two fingers lightly along her jaw.

"Necklaces like my mother wears are for older women who are obligated to show off their fortune and status, not for younger women whose only obligation is to avoid distracting from their natural beauty," he said quietly, his expression intentionally neutral as he looked at her.

Ginny felt her breath hitch in her chest at his words as a heavy blush crept over her face. Though he was trying to mask his expression, there was a softness in his gray eyes that made her heart seem to stop beating. His fingertips were stroking along her cheek again, and lightly threading through her hair, drawing her closer, and her heart was not stopped but suddenly pounding. His lips were so close to hers that she could feel his breath, and her tongue flicked over her lips instinctively as he leaned forward slightly, narrowing the gap between them…

The soft fluttering of feathers and an owl's screech caused them to look up as a jarring weight landed on the handle of her broom. A huge brown barn owl with a round, white face sat there, and Ginny leaned back slightly to prevent it from overbalancing the broom as she took an envelope from its beak, an envelope that was dark green with a golden talon embossed on the flap. Ginny opened the envelope and read the letter inside, a grin spreading across her face.

"Holyhead?" Malfoy asked smugly, smirking as she looked up from the letter.

"I made the team!" she cried shrilly, evidently forgetting they were on broomsticks four stories in the air as she threw herself at him, arms outstretched.

He caught her in a one-armed hug, laughing as he steadied his broom with the other hand. The owl perched on her broom's handle flapped nervously as her broom wobbled, but it wasn't going anywhere; from what Malfoy could see, her legs were wrapped around the broom as tightly as her arms were wrapped around him.

"You're insane, Weasley," he said humorously, his broom steadied enough that he could let go and hug her properly. "Both for thinking they wouldn't have you, and for doing this when we're so high up."

"You're a Seeker, Malfoy," she replied happily, not yet ready to let go. "If I fell, you'd catch me before I ever hit the ground."

"You realize you're going to be wearing a lot of Slytherin green from now on," he teased.

"It's not _Slytherin _green! It's _Holyhead _green! There's a difference!" she squealed, pushing back from him onto her own broom, her eyes sparkling like the diamond around her neck.

"It's the same green," he replied, feeling a swell of happiness at her laughter. "I rather wish I'd gotten you an emerald, now. It would have gone so much better. Very Slytherin."

"Oh, stop, you're going to make me cry!" she protested, arms around her middle as she laughed so hard it hurt.

Another shrill cry rang through the night air, different from that of an owl, and a smaller bird landed on Malfoy's broom. His eyes widened as he recognized both the species of the bird and the crest on the ribbon binding a scroll of parchment to its leg. Malfoy gingerly plucked at the gray and white ribbon, snatching his hand away with the parchment in it as the bird snapped at him.

Ginny watched as he unrolled the parchment. She tried to identify the gray-feathered bird; it certainly wasn't an owl, and it looked somehow familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. She turned her attention back to Malfoy as he read the parchment and broke into a lopsided grin.

"Well?" she prompted eagerly.

"Falmouth," he replied breathlessly, his grin widening. "I've been drafted to Falmouth."

Ginny gave a wordless shout of excitement that Malfoy returned, and flung herself on him in a hug again. As Malfoy steadied the broom once more, the bird perched on it tried to pick at his fingers with its hungry-looking beak. Ginny eyed it as Malfoy snatched his hand away again.

"So that's a falcon? I thought it looked familiar."

"Yes, and as you can see, they sometimes bite," he replied with a sigh. "And evidently, according to the letter, the team doesn't want this falcon flying back in the dark, so I'm obligated to keep him overnight."

The owl still perched on her broom hooted softly as she leaned away from Malfoy again.

"You know what, Weasley?" he said as he looked at the larger bird.

"What?"

"I'm terribly relieved that your letter didn't arrive with a harpy."

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was such a long time in coming, but it really came together today in a really satisfying way, so I hope you all enjoy it! I also hope people are still reading, given that it took so long! Are Ginny and Malfoy really going to have to go their separate ways? Well, this story still has a lot left to tell, so probably not. And if they do, there's always apparating! Please stick around for the next chapter, which should come much sooner, especially since I've been looking forward to writing the Quidditch gala... and _after_ the Quidditch gala... ;)  
**

**I was planning to have a huge extra-special thank-you to my loyal army of reviewers when the reviews passed 150, but they have in fact passed 160 in the meantime! Thank all of you so much! The part of my brain that makes happiness is working in overdrive thanks to you!**

**My special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update: darinmeg, Aikoyu Saotome, Greenstuff, bluelover13, shana rose, Nacilme, bitemyheadoff, Anna Lahm Malfoy, Mitra Laramie, Princess Pheonix Tears, lilymalfoy12, Elle'sBelle, Texan FireKat, Kay8abc, Kaleena-S, Nutmeg44, rowan-greenleaf, and amethyst-rose, you are all incredibly super-awesome!**

**As always, if you liked this chapter, please review and let me know! =)  
**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated T.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Hooray, not a horrible amount of time between updates this time! More than I'd like, but not horrible! This chapter begins the Quidditch Gala arc, and... well, we'll see where that leads. Please be kind and please enjoy! =)  
**

* * *

**The Name of the Game**

_**Chapter 22: For the Welfare of House Elves and Quidditch Players  
**_

Ginny woke to a rough shout from the hallway, and a not-inconsiderable amount of shrill bird-screeches. She stumbled from bed, wincing as she realized how late in the morning it was, and flung her door wide to see what the commotion was about. Her eyes widened as a familiar-looking falcon whipped through the air, flapping wildly down the hallway.

"Prepare to die, you bloody stupid bird!" Malfoy shouted as he erupted from his room, wand drawn, a wild look in his eyes. His hair was mussed, his shirt unbuttoned, and perhaps of most concern, his hands were bloodied.

"Malfoy!" Ginny cried out. "Are you alright?"

"I will be, once I've had that bird stuffed and placed on my parents' mantelpiece," he ground out, his expression tinged with malice.

"I think the bird is long gone," Ginny said. "Surely it's found an open window by now."

"I hope it runs into a closed one by mistake," he muttered darkly.

"What happened, anyway?" she asked, taking his hand gingerly in her own and inspecting it. There were a number of tears and gouges that looked rather a lot like the work of claws and a beak.

"The bloody wretched thing attacked me for my breakfast," he answered, hissing as she took his wand, having left her own in her bedroom, and began prodding at the injured flesh with it. "I had quite forgotten it was even there, and the next thing I know, it's on my plate, biting and scratching my hands and gobbling my bacon and eggs."

"The bird ate… eggs?" Ginny's brow furrowed. "That's rather disgusting."

"I'll say. And apparently it wanted my blood as a condiment, the foul little creature," Malfoy replied. "You _do _know what you're doing with that, don't you, Weasley?" he added uncertainly as he watched her work with the wand.

"Well, I've mostly got it to stop bleeding, but I'm afraid I don't know how to do much more than that. You'll have to get it looked at by someone who knows how to keep it from scarring," she said, meeting his gaze with a worried look.

"Don't fret, Weasley. I'll get it taken care of. At least now I won't bleed all over my clothes in the process," he said quietly, hesitating to pull his hands back from hers. She looked down at them again, absently running her thumb across his knuckles.

"You'll still make it to the ball tonight?" she asked, her voice hushed and hesitant.

"I don't have a choice. It's a condition of our new contracts," he said, studying her face. "But I wouldn't miss it anyway, and these cuts will heal easily enough."

Ginny opened her mouth as though about to say something, but Malfoy never found out what it was going to be, for at that moment the fire burning low in the Floo grate roared to life, and Hermione came tumbling through, her arms crowded with bags and boxes that suggested she carried an entire wardrobe and the shoes to match.

"Ginny!" she cried shrilly as some of the boxes threatened to slip away from her. "Help me!"

Both Ginny and Malfoy stepped up to relieve her of some of her burdens, causing Hermione to look at Malfoy as though he'd sprouted a second head, but she thanked him anyway and soon all of her packages were safely deposited in Ginny's room.

"You're here to get ready for the gala, then?" Malfoy asked, almost politely but for the arched eyebrow that suggested he was more amused at Hermione's less than elegant entrance than anything. At her nod, he continued, "Well, I'll leave you ladies to it."

"Well, how do you like that?" Hermione remarked after he had gone. "He was actually civil."

"Yes, well, he's capable of that, you know," Ginny replied tartly. "When Harry isn't around, of course."

"Tonight's going to be fun…" Hermione said, her tone one of apprehension. Ginny was forced to agree; the gala was going to be interesting, to say the least, and most likely not in a good way.

Following Hermione's arrival, Malfoy seemed to have vanished from the dormitory entirely. Ginny supposed he'd gone to get his hands treated properly, and wondered when he would come back to get dressed for the gala, but as the day wore on she hardly had any time to worry about it. There was too much to be done. Hours later, she and Hermione had bathed, shaved their legs, plucked their eyebrows, and painstakingly done each other's hair and makeup, for which Ginny felt Hermione should be especially grateful, as the older girl's bushy mane was absurdly difficult to tame.

Perhaps, though, it was Ginny who ought to be grateful, for as she observed her hair, pulled back into a very stylish ponytail from which it cascaded in gleaming copper ringlets, she realized that Hermione had some serious skill with hairdressing skills. Ginny hadn't even known she _had _as much hair as the style seemed to present, complete with a lock left loose which draped around her face.

When it was time – finally – to put on her dress, the black one with silver accents, Hermione paused in her last-minute indecision between her sparkly blue or satiny red dresses in order to gasp at Ginny's appearance.

"Where did you get that?" she breathed as she surveyed the dress, taking in the way it hung perfectly over Ginny's curves, plunging between her breasts and cut dangerously low in the back below the intertwined straps. "It's gorgeous."

"Oh, erm… Malfoy bought it for me," Ginny replied as casually as possible as she stepped into the shoes, which made Hermione's eyes widen further as she caught sight of them.

"Why on earth did he do that?" Hermione asked, goggle-eyed. "I mean, that dress… it's obviously designer. It must have cost a small fortune."

"Do you really want to know?" Ginny replied with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes… er… I think I do," Hermione hedged, finally deciding in curiosity's favor. "Yes, I do."

"We ran into a rather nasty clerk in Diagon Alley, and we pretended to have sex in the dressing room to get back at her," Ginny explained. "And then we had to buy the dress to keep her quiet, or so Malfoy said."

"Fake dressing-room sex… right…" Hermione said dubiously as she surveyed the dress again. "You know, that clerk probably would have stayed silent on Malfoy's word alone, don't you think? His family's a pretty big deal, even these days."

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny replied with a roll of her eyes. "It's only a dress."

"And a diamond necklace?" the brown-haired girl asked knowingly as she watched Ginny fasten the gem around her neck, completing the look. "I don't think even Harry ever got you something as expensive as all this. Ginny, you're going to be one of the best-dressed women there."

"Then I'm thankful I had you do my hair," Ginny smiled, her gaze flicking to Hermione's dress choices. "The blue one, I think. It has better shoes."

xxxxx

Malfoy still hadn't turned up when it was time to leave. Of course, it wasn't as if they were going to the gala together or anything, but his whereabouts were a mystery, one that teased at Ginny's consciousness all along the short walk to the apparition point. She forced the curiosity down as she and Hermione, who had finally chosen the dazzling blue dress with matching strappy sandals, apparated away to the gala.

When they arrived, Ginny found herself breathless, and not just from the disconcerting sensation of being squished that accompanied apparition. She had been to various post-war anniversary balls and benefits and fundraisers at Harry's side, but this seemed well and truly a notch above even those events. There were gorgeously-dressed, rich-looking people everywhere and media photographers lined up taking pictures along a red carpet that had been laid out for arriving guests, leading the way into a huge, quite grand-looking structure not unlike a very old and opulent hotel. Ginny felt completely overwhelmed and out of place, and couldn't begin to contemplate the walk down the red carpet.

"Ginny?" a familiar voice called, and she looked up to see Oliver waving to her, George at his side.

While Oliver was clad in standard black dress robes and a white dress shirt in a style not much unlike a muggle tuxedo, her brother was clad in dress robes of lurid purple velvet. _Naturally, _she thought, cringing inwardly as she offered the approaching men an uncertain grin.

"Come on now, Gin, you aren't nervous, are you?" George addressed her, reading her like a book. He glanced around and leaned in conspiratorially. "Harry and Ron are already inside. They wanted to wait outside for you and Hermione, but you know how Harry's expected to glad-hand everywhere he goes."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. She knew this all too well from experience, and she also knew that far from being obligatory, it was something Harry jumped at the chance to do. Well, it hardly mattered, since she wasn't interested in being his date or anything anyway. He'd apparently used his invitation to get Ron in, so she would use hers for Hermione, and that would simply be that as far as Ginny was concerned.

She made her way inside along with Hermione and George, Oliver leading the way, and as they entered through the grand double doors, they were sighted by Harry and Ron, who made their way over and greeted them all in turn.

"Ginny," Harry said, smiling, as Ron garbled awkwardly at Hermione, some kind of food already in his mouth. "Glad to see you got Ron's date here on time."

"Er… what?" she asked, her features blank.

"You know," Ron interjected as George, looking on, rolled his eyes in dismay, "Hermione's with me and you'll be with Harry… for the evening… as his date, like. He got us a great table and everything."

Ginny's eyes flashed angrily. She was not about to be pushed into being Harry's date, especially not since the gala was supposed to be more about her becoming a Quidditch player than it was about his established fame, but before she could protest, a flurry of shouts rang out from the entrance and just outside. At the mention of Malfoy's name, Ginny's whole group turned to look, a wide variety of expressions gracing their faces.

For her part, Ginny's jaw nearly dropped. She'd seen Malfoy dressed up before, but this was different. He was dressed in a black suit, complete with a black shirt, waistcoat, and tie, which was neatly held in place by a silver tie pin. His suit was perfectly tailored to his lean frame, and obviously expensive on top of that. She noticed, too, that his hair was shorter than it had been that morning; clearly, he'd had it trimmed. On top of those outwardly noticeable things, there was another quality to his present image, one that Ginny couldn't quite identify, and then it hit her: it was his attitude that was different.

Malfoy was working the crowd.

She watched as he made his way down the red carpet, the flash bulbs of wizarding cameras exploding right and left as he walked, occasionally pausing, smirking, or grinning outright. The media was in a frenzy over him; while it was probably true that his family had lost their standing in some political and social circles, it was clear that here, in a world of money and celebrity, being a young and eligible Malfoy carried a great deal of weight.

And then he spotted her.

He strolled toward her as though drawn by a magnet, and she thought he looked doubly pleased with himself as Harry bristled beside her.

"Miss Weasley," he said formally, the familiar smirk present on his face as usual.

"I didn't see you at the dorm after this morning," she replied, cutting straight to the point.

"I went home," he answered, "to the Manor. The dormitory simply lacks the appropriate facilities to properly get ready for an event like this."

"In other words, he didn't pack his suit," Hermione muttered from somewhere behind Ginny.

"Spot-on, Granger," he called to her before returning his attention to Ginny. "It would have gotten wrinkled, spending the summer in my trunk."

"Are your hands alright?" she asked, and he held them out in response.

"I had my house elf heal them," he assured her. Ginny heard an indrawn breath from Hermione and knew they were about to be treated to a rant about elfish welfare, but fortunately, George intervened.

"Well, Hermione, let's go find that table Harry's got for us, shall we? Come on, Ron, you as well," he said pointedly, shuffling the pair away despite Ron's spluttering protests.

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief; the last thing she wanted or needed was to be caught between Hermione and Malfoy in an argument over the rights of house elves, having already spent years listening to Hermione debate the subject with Ron. Furthermore, she had a horrible feeling that Ron would side against Malfoy no matter what the subject of the argument was.

Taking Malfoy's hands in her own, she examined them carefully, and they seemed to have been mended perfectly. To her surprise, however, instead of releasing his grip when she let go, he took one of her hands in his, bowed slightly, and kissed it. He glanced up at her as he did so, his gray eyes sparkling as perhaps a dozen flash bulbs from the cameras of reporters who had followed him inside went off. The photographers had seized their chance at a photo op. Ginny gaped, her mouth working soundlessly like a fish pulled from a stream, her cheeks staining a shade of pink too deep for her makeup to hide.

Before she could think up a response, a short, rather rotund wizard appeared as though out of nowhere and addressed her, scanning a clipboard for her name.

"Ah, you're Gin-er-va Weasley?" he asked, stumbling over her name. "You're a pretty one. Looks like we've found our female headliner this evening."

"It's _Ginevra,_" she corrected, "and what exactly are you talking about?"

"Well look at you, girl! You're going to be the hot ticket item in tonight's auction, obviously," the man replied before gesturing at Malfoy. "Well, except for him, anyway. Obviously he's going to bring in the biggest bids tonight."

"What the hell are you on about?" Ginny snapped, glancing around at her friends in a growing fury.

"Weasley, the gala is a charity auction where people bid on dates with the new Quidditch recruits," Malfoy pointed out. "Surely you knew?"

"What? No, of course I didn't know," she cried out in shock, turning to Oliver for confirmation.

"It's true, Ginny," the Keeper replied. "I think it was assumed you knew… although I guess you did miss both years that Harry attended. It's practically mandatory for new players."

"You mean you… you let yourself be auctioned off for dates? While we were _dating?_" Ginny hissed at Harry furiously. "You let some other woman _buy _you?"

"Now, Ginny," Harry offered placatingly, "it was for _charity. _I think that year it was war orphans…"

"Besides, Ginny," Oliver added, "It wasn't a woman that placed the winning bid on Harry that year. It was a fat little wizard from Liverpool."

"That could have gone without being said," Harry snapped angrily. "We went out for a lunch date! We talked about Quidditch! _Nothing happened!_"

"This is _ridiculous,_" Ginny huffed. "I'm not going to allow myself to be auctioned off like some… _piece of meat._"

"I'm afraid you've got no choice," Oliver informed her. "It's in your contract. Besides, Malfoy's doing it."

She turned to look at the blond, who had managed to secure a tumbler of firewhiskey from a passing waiter and raised it in mock salute.

"You're damn right I am," he replied, turning to address the round little auction coordinator. "Put me on last, will you? I'm a closer."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," the man confirmed, making a note on the clipboard with his quill. "And the lady?"

"Hmm… second to last. She's a closer, too," Malfoy said decisively, and with a nod and another scribbled note, the man was gone.

"What did you get me into?" Ginny hissed, only barely holding back the urge to scream.

"The auction, obviously," Malfoy replied. "Well, you were going to be in it anyway, but if you go on sale later in the game, when people have had more to drink and they know it's their last opportunity, they'll spend more on you."

"But I…"

"Remember, Weasley… it's for the _children,_" he said, emphasizing the last word almost to the point of sarcasm.

"Actually, this year it's to support the permanent spell damage ward at St. Mungo's," Harry interjected. "I think Neville Longbottom had something to do with setting it up. You wouldn't happen to _know of anyone_ who's ever been put in a spell damage ward, would you? Or anyone who's put someone there?"

Malfoy fixed Harry with an irritated glare, his lips drawing into a defiant sneer at the vague slight against his family. "Watch it, Potter. Bellatrix is dead, and there's no point in trying to blame me for her misdeeds, however vile they may have been."

"Don't go pretending like you're any better," Harry bit out angrily. "Come on, Ginny, let's go sit with Hermione and Ron… where we belong."

"Actually, Weasley," Malfoy interjected, taking a pull from his glass of firewhiskey, "that fat little auction wizard is waving you over. You'd better go see what he wants."

Ginny rolled her eyes, spearing Harry with a last baleful glare as she departed. Making her way over to the auction coordinator, she snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and downed it. She didn't know what was worse, being auctioned off for a date or being caught between the two bickering men.

The pair of them watched her go, Harry with his mouth set in a grim line and Malfoy with a soft sigh, which he covered by addressing Harry immediately.

"So, Potter… where is this table of yours I keep hearing about?"

"Don't you have an auction to be sold at?" Harry snapped bitterly.

"I have other things to take care of first," Malfoy replied, secretly reveling in the fact that he could practically see Harry's brain churning over what his cryptic statement might mean.

xxxxx

Hermione gasped as she was jerked backward through the archway near Harry's table into what she guessed was the service hall, having eyed it periodically since her arrival in the hopes of being able to observe house elf activity. Though house elves were treated better overall in the postwar political climate, SPEW remained a quiet hobby of her own, and she was constantly on the lookout for house elf mistreatment. It was no house elf that had grabbed her, however, and she rounded on her captor, attempting to wrench free from his grasp. Her eyes widened as she recognized Malfoy, his grip tightening marginally on her arm as she tried to pull away. He pushed her against the wall, though not roughly, pressing a silencing finger to her lips.

"Easy, Granger," he breathed, watching her startled expression turn to one of muted anger.

"Let go, Malfoy," she hissed. "You're hurting my arm."

"Ah… sorry about that," he replied, and rather than remove his hand from her entirely, he rubbed the offended flesh soothingly, smirking in satisfaction as she looked surprised once more.

"_That _isn't necessary," she muttered as she swatted his hand away. "Just tell me what you want already."

"Right to the point, then," he said. "You're aware of the, er, _unusual _conditions of this event, I presume?"

"I wasn't before I arrived, but it wasn't difficult to figure out once I got here," she replied haughtily.

"I find myself in something of a predicament. You see, I'm obligated to allow myself to be bid on, as the Weaslette says, like a piece of meat, and as I'm certain you can understand, I'd rather not be sold off to the highest bidder… or at least, if the highest bidder isn't one of my choosing."

"You want me to bid on you?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Always with the quick wit. You really don't know how to disappoint in that area, do you?" he smirked. "It's a bit more than that, though. I not only want you to bid, I want you to win."

"Not that I'm agreeing to anything, but what money do you expect me to use for this?"

"Mine, obviously. All you have to do is bid, win, and give the wizard at the booth my vault number at Gringotts."

"And you would just give me the number to your vault?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"I think it's fair to say that you are quite possibly the most trustworthy Gryffindor ever," he replied, "and besides which, the goblins won't give you so much as a knut without proper authorization even if you have my vault number, so there's not really any risk, is there?"

"I suppose not… but why should I help anyone who's a party to house elf enslavement?" she demanded, her tone haughty.

"For one thing, Granger, I'll have you know I treat my house elf very well. He has his pick of tea towels, and at Christmas I even let him dress himself in the tree skirt because he liked the velvet. My mother had a fit about the stand going bare and made me go out in a snowstorm to buy another one. Is that enough for you?" he hissed, perturbed by her accusation. "Besides which, the auction is for charity, and you're going to bid as high as you have to in order to beat out the competition. I'm sure you can find some appeal in that."

"And what if I bid more than you have?" Hermione asked, taken slightly aback by the realization that she had offended him.

Malfoy's superior sneer was answer enough to confirm her suspicions before he even spoke.

"You won't," he replied. "You'll never even come close."

"And Ginny?" Hermione asked slyly. "You know Harry's going to bid on her, and I can't imagine she's going to enjoy herself much if he wins."

"You leave that to me," Malfoy answered with a grin.

* * *

**A/N: If Malfoy comes off a little creepy with Hermione... well, how else is she going to see him, really? This isn't a Draco/Hermione fic, after all! Will I ever elaborate on Malfoy's fashion-conscious house elf? Maybe, maybe not. A man's relationship with his house elf is a very personal thing, you know. And quite probably, these are not the questions you're asking at this point anyway! =P**

**As always, my thanks to those who have reviewed since last time: samsbk, bluelover13, darinmeg, Nacilme, Aikoyu Saotome, Emereld Malfoy, The Cold Flame, Nutmeg44, amethyst-rose, Mrs. Dimoski, Princess Pheonix Tears, shana rose, nina10966, Greenstuff, ItWasn'tThatEasy, bingbangboom5, Kaleena-S, Kay8abc, and rtag!**

**If you like this chapter, please review and let me know! =D**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated T, verging toward M at the end.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Almost back to regular updates. Honestly, this chapter was mostly written when I posted the last one, but it wouldn't leave me alone until it was just right... and now it is! Sorry for the extra time, but I think it's worth it. Here's part two of the Quidditch Gala... please be kind and please enjoy! Also it should be noted that I know little about auctions but for the stereotypes one sees on television, so if anything is off here, please chalk it up to wizarding weirdness! =)  
**

* * *

**The Name of the Game**

_**Chapter 23: Let the Bidding Begin**_

As the night wore on, the neophyte Quidditch players were auctioned off one by one until Ginny's turn at auction had finally come. She stumbled slightly as she took the stage, looking momentarily blinded by the bright lighting. Malfoy straightened almost imperceptibly in his seat as she glanced around, trying to get her bearings. Her eyes came to rest on their table, Potter's table, really, and widened as she caught sight of Malfoy there. He raised his glass with an acknowledging smirk, knowing how surprised she must be to see him seated at the table, between none other than her brothers George and Ron, the latter casting sideways glances at him that suggested he might be bad-smelling, poisonous, or both.

She wouldn't have expected it because, of course, Malfoy wouldn't usually volunteer to sit with that crowd. She had been herded into a back room with the other new Quidditch recruits to await their turn in the charity auction; Malfoy had not joined them because, well, he was a Malfoy, and no one seemed inclined to tell him what to do. Besides, he had a plan. Well, more of a loose idea of his next move, really.

A glance at Potter told him the bespectacled man awaited the auction with the anticipation of a man who intended to bid, and to win. Luckily, Malfoy had what he'd heard students of Muggle parentage at Hogwarts refer to as an excellent poker face when he was being cunning, which he'd understood to mean he didn't betray himself easily. True, that, and dead useful in times like these.

The bidding opened at five hundred galleons, not at all an inconsiderable sum, and the bids climbed quickly. Malfoy watched as Potter took the lead time and again, and how fretful Ginny got whenever he did. As the amount of the bids began to deter some of the less committed bidders, Malfoy decided it was time to start having some fun. As the next bid was taken, he coughed loudly into his hand and wiggled his fingers oddly.

"Eight hundred galleons to Mr. Malfoy, do I hear eight-fifty?" the auctioneer called out.

Harry and Ron snapped their heads sideways in surprise, shooting him a look of pure loathing, to which he simply shrugged in reply. They were so surprised, in fact, that Harry almost missed the next bid, raising his hand just in time.

"Eight-fifty, do I hear…"

"A thousand," George's voice rang out gleefully, and Malfoy offered him an appreciative nod.

"A thousand, do I hear eleven-hundred?" And of course, Potter bid.

"Eleven-hundred to Mr. Potter, do I hear twelve?"

Malfoy raised his hand and gestured as he spotted Neville Longbottom.

"Twelve-hundred to Mr. Malfoy!"

"Stop it, you bastard!" Harry hissed. "Fifteen hundred!" he called to the auctioneer.

"Er, Malfoy?" Neville asked uncertainly, approaching with caution. "Did you just wave me over?"

"Sure did, have a seat and play along," Malfoy replied. "See, Potter, that's all I was doing, waving Longbottom over."

"A-alright then…" Neville replied as George and Oliver scooted over for him. As George moved, he waved his hand to the auctioneer.

"Sixteen hundred to Mr. Weasley…"

"Two thousand!" George shouted with triumph.

"Did he just outbid on his own bid?" Neville asked in confusion.

"Beats the hell out of me, but whatever he's doing, he's doing it with style," Malfoy replied, reaching over and snatching up Ron's scotch, setting it in front of the new arrival. "Care for a drink, Longbottom?"

Neville shrugged and took a sip while Ron gaped, his mouth moving silently and fish-like.

"You're not going to bid?" Malfoy asked him, keeping a careful ear on the bidding.

"Wish I could," Neville replied, "Ginny's a very good friend and it's for a good cause, but it's too rich for my blood already."

"Really? Your family's an old one and pureblooded, isn't it?" Malfoy asked curiously. Usually there was money in such families, though not as much as his, and the Weasleys were an obvious exception.

"Well yeah, but… you know, Gran's got a death grip on the purse strings and she likes to make her donations to charity directly. Not that I mind," Neville added hastily. "Dunno what I'd do with too much money, myself."

"There's really no such thing as too much… Hold on," Malfoy interrupted, hearing that Harry was about to win the closing bid. He delivered a swift elbow to Ron's side, causing the redhead to squeal loudly.

"Three thousand to the other Mr. Weasley," the auctioneer proclaimed.

"I… I haven't got that kind of money!" Ron gasped, paling noticeably, and Harry rolled his eyes and bid again, setting off another round of bidding amongst those bidders still hanging on.

"You were saying, Longbottom?"

"You really don't want Harry to win this one, do you?" Neville asked. "Because… it's Ginny?"

"How's that?" Malfoy asked. "It's just a competitive thing, that's all."

"You've… you've liked her since fourth year…" Neville said quietly. "I couldn't help but notice, the way you pushed me around in front of her, especially after took her to the Yule Ball… but I don't think anyone else realized."

"Too astute for your own good, Longbottom," Malfoy grumbled, deciding that a change of subject was in order. "So this auction… you set it up? Seems like a lot of work if you ask me."

"Yes, well, it's really important to me," Neville mumbled hesitantly. "My… my parents… I expect you know about them…"

"Unfortunately, yes," Malfoy nodded, then raised his glass for a toast. "To Bellatrix: thank Merlin she's dead."

"But… she was your aunt," Neville said as their glasses clinked.

"She was a scary, merciless bitch with no soul to speak of," Malfoy replied, draining his glass, an action Neville mirrored.

"Five thousand to Mr. Potter, going once, going twice…"

"Ah, time for the big finish," Malfoy muttered for only Neville to hear. He raised his hand, snapped his fingers twice, and held up two of them for the auctioneer to see.

"A doubled bid! Can anyone top that? … No? Then the auction goes to Mr. Malfoy for ten thousand galleons!"

"Two drinks for me and my friend here," Malfoy told a passing waiter, pointing to their empty glasses.

"You… you accidentally bought my sister while ordering drinks?" Ron cried shrilly in a fit of rage that was turning his face fantastically red.

Malfoy gave him a small, indifferent shrug.

"He didn't do it by accident," Harry said with disgust. "He only wants to pretend he did."

"You probably didn't have to bid that much to win," Neville murmured so only Malfoy could hear.

"It's for a good cause, isn't it?" Malfoy replied as he received his new drink. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've an auction to be won in. Your cause is going to make a lot of money tonight, Longbottom."

Five pairs of eyes watched as the blond sauntered away, his jacket slung over his shoulder and his drink in hand.

"He doesn't seem like he's so bad these days," Neville offered tentatively, only to be glared at by Harry and Ron, while Oliver and George tittered with amusement.

xxxxx

Ginny stumbled from the stage dizzily, the curtained area to the side pitch-black to her light-adjusted eyes. She felt herself miss a step and, too late to catch herself, she began to fall… directly into a leanly muscled chest. As her vision cleared, she saw blond hair and amused gray eyes looking down at her.

"Careful, Weasley. I wouldn't want you to break something before I get to use this," Malfoy smirked, holding up his auction receipt.

"Why did you bid on me?" she asked, her eyes wide with shock.

"I couldn't let Potter win, now could I?" he replied, his voice a low whisper that suggested it wasn't only about competition. "Here, hold my drink for a second."

She took the glass from his hand, the ice cubes rattling, and Malfoy realized her hands were shaking slightly.

"Am I to believe that this auction scared the ferocious Ginny Weasley?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as he loosened his tie and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt.

"It was horrifying," she replied, taking a sip from his glass to calm her nerves and watching him as he ran a hand through his hair, mussing the neatly trimmed and styled platinum fringe. "What on earth are you doing? You hate it when your hair's ruffled."

"Yes, well the point, love, is that other people don't hate it," he replied.

"… 'Love'?" she smirked.

"Oh, shut it. It's just a thing people say. I suppose you prefer Weaslette, Weasel-Girl, She-Weasel…" he trailed off, smirking drunkenly.

"Shut it, Ferret. How much have you had to drink?" she asked with a laugh.

Malfoy took the glass back and eyed the remainder of the contents. "I'd say… _almost _enough for this," he replied, gesturing toward the stage with a laugh. "How do I look?"

"Like you've been snogging backstage," she giggled.

"Perfect," he replied. "You should get back to the table… I think if you're back here any longer, your brothers may begin to suspect something."

Ginny couldn't help but laugh again at his exaggerated conspiratorial whisper, but as she peeked out through a gap in the curtains, she spotted George pointing toward the backstage area and then making a lewd sexual gesture with his hands, Oliver nodding sagely beside him as Harry and Ron looked positively incensed. Neville flushed pink with embarrassment and looked away.

"Oh, shit!" she hissed. "George has just gone and told the lot of them that we're back here shagging."

"Wouldn't be the first time we've had not-sex in almost-public," he remarked, just as they heard his name announced. "That'll be me. I'll see you after."

Ginny made her way back to the table, taking the empty seat between Neville and Ron. She put George's antics to rest with a roll of her eyes… but that didn't stop Harry from eyeing her with suspicion. _As if I haven't got the right to shag someone if I want, _she grumbled inwardly.

And now it was Malfoy's turn. As he took the stage, his jacket casually hooked on a finger and draped over his shoulder, he sipped from his glass. Afterward, finding it empty, he casually tossed it off to the side of the stage where it shattered on the floor. He surveyed the crowd with gray eyes that were glazed and slightly unfocused from the liquor, and promptly gave his audience a dazzling, roguish grin.

The desired effect was immediate; most of the room was now clamoring to place bids. Ginny flushed pink and glanced down at her hands as a fleeting sensation of inadequacy washed over her. She knew he didn't expect her to bid, that he would know she couldn't afford it. As she looked up again, she saw him looking right at her, and as he gave her a sly wink she felt her spirits lift somewhat.

"Tch. Look at him, the bloody bastard," Ron grumbled as he watched the auction. "All full of himself, looking such a hot mess, with his rumpled shirt and his hair sticking up every which-way. Who'd want _him _anyway?"

"Oh, only all the girls here, and half the blokes," George replied with a sly look at his brother. "Why, have you learned something about yourself tonight?"

"What? I… _no!_" Ron shouted as he caught on to George's insinuation. "I wouldn't have _him _in a million years, even if I _was _into boys! No, make that a _billion _years! Make that _never!_ Anyway, you know I fancy girls."

"Ron, speaking of girls, where's Hermione?" Ginny asked.

"Uh…" Ron glanced around. "I have no idea. I don't think she's been here for a while, now that you mention it."

Now that Ginny thought about it, she hadn't spotted the brunette during her own auction, either. She scanned the room, when a rather curious figure caught her eye. At the back of the room stood what she presumed was a woman, clad all in black, her robes loose and billowy and her head and face obscured by a scarf and sunglasses. Most notably, every time the auction got close to closing, the woman would raise her hand and cough for attention in the fashion of Dolores Umbridge, one-time High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. And sure enough, no matter how high the price climbed, she continued to bid.

After a fairly long while, there remained only the mystery woman and one other bidder, a middle-aged woman Ginny didn't immediately recognized but who looked both pureblooded and lecherous. The bid amounts were quite generous now, with the pureblood woman consistently bidding ever higher. At last, the auction looked in danger of closing with a bid of fifty thousand galleons in favor of the pureblooded witch, when at the last second the mysterious woman in black raised her hand.

"One hundred thousand galleons," she said, her voice pitched low and heavily accented, rather like a female Viktor Krum.

Oddly, Ginny noticed, Malfoy seemed to choke back a laugh at this as the entire room fell silent in the wake of the massive bid. Seconds later, the auction closed in favor of the mystery woman, who hastily exchanged a vault number for her winning claim ticket and bolted from the room, leaving only the telltale flash of a sparkling blue strappy sandal before she vanished from sight.

"Well, it's an excellent day for St. Mungo's," the auctioneer announced boisterously.

Ginny stared, unable to believe that had just happened. A hundred thousand galleons to go on a date with Malfoy? The amount was just insane, even where Malfoy was concerned… and strangest of all, Ginny thought she knew who had been doing the bidding. Moments later, Hermione appeared at the table, and dropped into the seat next to Ginny when Neville stood and offered it.

"Where have you been?" Ron prodded from Ginny's other side. "That foul git Malfoy bought Ginny out from under Harry, can you believe it?"

George snickered at Ron's unintentional innuendo, only to be silenced by Ginny's glare as Ron continued.

"And you wouldn't believe what some woman just paid for him. She must be utterly mad!"

"Er… yes, must be," Hermione replied, her face flushing deep red with embarrassment as she silently stuffed the claim ticket into Ginny's hand beneath the table, causing the redheaded girl's eyes to widen.

"That _was_ you?" Ginny whispered almost inaudibly, and Hermione gave a nearly imperceptible nod. "I_ knew_ I recognized your shoes… but really, _Viktor Krum?_"

"Well, it was the only accent I could think of!" Hermione whispered back, looking on the verge of panic. Ginny felt it best to let the other girl calm down, and as she glanced down at the auction ticket in her hand, she couldn't help but smile.

The whole group looked up as Malfoy approached and leaned heavily on the back of Ginny's chair, slightly breathless as though he'd hurried over.

"Miss me?" he asked with a cavalier grin.

"Not much," Harry snapped as Ron mumbled something about a cold day in hell.

"That was quite a… a thing you did there, whatever it was," Neville offered. "St. Mungo's will be able to do a lot with this."

"Oh, _stop _it," Ron groaned irritably. "Don't you start fawning over him, too."

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed. "Don't demean yourself. Just let it go."

"You're alright, Longbottom," Malfoy replied, sizing the other man up and ignoring Ron completely. "I may have misjudged you in our first year."

"Well… my ass _was _a bit fat back then," Neville chuckled softly. "I'm, um, going to go see that the funds are all transferred properly."

As he was about to leave, Neville paused and leaned in so only Malfoy could hear. "Whatever happens… be good to her, alright?"

Malfoy gave Neville a sharp nod and clapped him on the shoulder, sending him on his way.

"What was _that_ about?" Harry prodded.

"Nothing that I'd say is your business," Malfoy replied, glancing around distractedly. Now that the auction had ended, couples were taking to the dance floor.

"Drunken sod," Harry muttered, causing Ginny to roll her eyes.

"Weasley," Malfoy addressed her suddenly.

"What?" Ron snapped belligerently.

"Not _you, _Weaselby. Your sister. _Ginevra,_" he emphasized, turning to her, "would you care to dance?"

"No way, Malfoy!" Ron shouted. "Just _try _dancing with my sister while my foot's up your ass!"

"Ah, I don't think so," Malfoy replied, pulling out his auction ticket and holding it out to Ginny. "One date, right here, right now. What do you say?"

Ginny looked up at him, seeing the faint nervousness that simmered just beneath his cool, slightly drunk exterior. His eyes were a faint ring of silver wrapped around wide, black pupils that seemed to pull her in; his breathing, she noticed, had increased slightly, something she'd learned to measure during their Quidditch training together. Hadn't he said that whomever he brought with him to the gala would be bound to cause a stir? Didn't this amount to much the same thing? And yet, those eyes… they pleaded with her not to refuse, and she couldn't say no.

"I think I'd like that," Ginny answered, shooting her brother a nasty look. "After all, it's _my _choice to make."

She took Malfoy's hand and let him lead her to the dance floor. As he swept her close to him, she felt almost lightheaded, as though she was dreaming. _Or a bit drunk myself, _she added silently.

"I don't think I've had the opportunity to tell you how absolutely stunning you look," he murmured softly as he spun her around the floor in slow circles. "I'd seen the dress on you already, of course, and I had imagined how you would look all done up… but somehow, none of it compares to this."

"I…" Ginny began, flushing crimson; she could hardly find the words. "I don't know what to say. I thought you looked rather… nice… when you arrived, as well."

"That's a good thing to say," he replied with a hint of a smile. He raised his hand to her face, letting his fingertips trace lightly over her cheekbone and along her jaw. The flash bulbs of cameras could be heard popping nearby.

"They're taking pictures again," she remarked, eyeing the press fretfully; Malfoy drew her closer.

"Let them," he replied. "It's not as if we're doing something wrong. Two people dancing… it's perfectly innocent."

Ginny allowed herself to be pulled closer to him, but the one thing she couldn't stop thinking was that it didn't feel innocent at all.

Back at the table, George watched his sister dance and sighed dreamily.

"If I didn't know better," Oliver said, glancing at him sideways, "I'd think you were feeling sentimental."

"I am," George replied. "What a lovely night this is…"

"We could dance too, I suppose…" Oliver suggested.

"I don't think Ron will let us have Hermione, and even then we'd have to take turns," George said flippantly, pausing as he studied Oliver's face. "But… that isn't what you meant, is it…"

"No," Oliver stood, holding out his hand. "Dance with me, George. There's nothing wrong with it."

George felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile as he took the hand offered to him. _Oh, Fred, the things I'll have to tell you…_

Oliver, George discovered, was right. There was nothing wrong with it at all.

xxxxx

Hours later, Malfoy and Ginny found themselves walking back to the dormitory from the apparition point. Harry had made a last-minute show of wanting to see her back safely, but Malfoy had put a stop to it, stating in no uncertain terms, _"My date, my responsibility."_ How that translated to him carrying her on his back, her shoes dangling from her hands, was quite beyond her, yet here they were, all because she'd mentioned that after spending the evening in heels, her feet were done. He swerved occasionally but was mostly steady, and she could only laugh wildly when he did; it didn't cross either of their minds that they might fall.

When they reached the front of the building they stopped, and he let her to the ground gently. Only a faint light glowed from within the dormitory, welcoming back those who had been chosen for teams and attended the gala. It had become a quiet place, almost lonely, and Ginny hesitated outside the door. It was nearly midnight, the time when fairytales come to an end…

"I'm not ready yet," she murmured softly, all pretense of humor gone. "I'm not ready for tomorrow to come. I don't want to say goodbye, not so soon."

"It isn't goodbye," he replied, unable to keep a note of doubt and sadness from creeping into his voice. Beyond a doubt, this summer had been the best time of his life, and he wasn't ready for it to end, either. "We're friends… we're… we'll still see each other."

"When, on the Quidditch pitch?" she asked, her voice threatening to break.

"And off," he tried to reassure her… but he couldn't quite convince himself. Apart from Quidditch, they lived in completely different worlds. He was a Malfoy, after all, and she was a Weasley. Anything more than that would be a lie.

"It's our last night here," she said, turning to him. "Spend it with me."

"Weasley… I can't. If we become something more… It wouldn't be right to make my problems yours."

He felt her hand come to rest on his chest, and when he glanced down, he saw her auction ticket pressed between them.

"One night, here and now," she whispered.

He knew he shouldn't. It was weakness to give in… but he wanted so badly to give in. His hand covered hers, and an instant later his other hand was tangled in her hair as he kissed her, his lips pressing to hers insistently. She whimpered softly against him as his tongue slipped between her parted lips and found hers. His hands moved to her shoulders and he pressed her back against the wall of the building.

"Weasley," he panted, breaking the kiss and pulling back slightly, "I'm sorry… we can't. I've had a bit to drink, so have you, and I… Gods, Weasley, I'm trying to do the right thing…"

"It won't change anything," she murmured.

It was a lie, and they both knew it, but they both wanted so desperately to believe it… and her mouth was on his again, open, welcoming, and her body pressed against his promised to be the same. Her presence against him was maddening, aided by the evening's drinking in chasing away all reason, and it seemed that the only thing that made any sense was her warmth, her kiss, her touch. Her hand drifted low, trailing over lean musculature until it found what it wanted, and his breath hitched in his chest as she touched him. It couldn't be denied any longer, how much he wanted her, as her fingers traced the length of his arousal where it strained against his trousers, drawing a shudder through his body.

He kissed her, hard and wantonly, pulling her close so that there wasn't room between them for even her hand, groaning against her mouth as she rocked her hips against him. The only thought in his mind was that they could not possibly get inside and into his room fast enough.

In the throes of heated desire, neither of them noticed the pop of a flash bulb from the bushes across the road.

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**A/N: Uh-oh, that last part doesn't sound good... but the rest of it? Oh yeah. Next chapter will have that M-rated content that has long been promised. And don't worry, this isn't going to be one of those stories that just ends once they get busy. Nope. We have a long way to go, folks.**

**The upcoming smut was going to happen anyway, but let us consider it a fitting reward for this story having reached 200 reviews! I am over the moon, people, again. It wasn't but a handful of chapters ago that it broke 100 and I was ecstatic then, too. It's all thanks to you, my awesome readers, and I hope you'll keep on reading and reviewing until the end!**

**Those who reviewed since last time: Mrs. Dimoski, rtag, HeavilyBrokenSpirit, curlygurly82, Nutmeg44, Princess Pheonix Tears, SweetSeredipity, Dracosbaby7, MlleEmyMalfoy, ChicOnaBroom, Aikoyu Saotome, amyappy, beeziebug, nina10966, Greenstuff, shana rose, ilovejessssss, Kay8abc, amethyst-rose, and mmluvsu, thank you, thank you, a thousand times, thank you!**

**If you liked this chapter please review! =)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is strictly M in the second half for sexual content.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: How could I go so long without updating? I never meant to do that to my wonderful readers! Real life has spent two months being insufferable, but I've reached the light at the end of the tunnel stage with the issues I've been handling and my stories are beginning to speak to me again. Please forgive me!**

**Here there be smut; consider yourself warned!  
**

**The title for this chapter is borrowed from the title of the Fatboy Slim album _Halfway Between the Gutter and the Stars, _which is itself derived from the Oscar Wilde quote, "We are all of us in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." I felt it was a fitting sentiment for this chapter.**

**Lastly, this chapter is dedicated to all my readers, but foremost to my good friend Greenstuff who nursed me through my bout of writers block with kindness, patience, and constant reminders that a new chapter of The Name of the Game would be welcome. =)  
**

* * *

**The Name of the Game**

_**Chapter 24: Between the Gutter and the Stars**_

Ron snorted in disgust as he surveyed what remained at the gala. Some of the magical decorations had begun to come unstuck, either because of weak sticking charms and poorly applied spellotape or due to the wear and tear of the evening, resulting in crepe paper streamers and strands of enchanted fairy lights that drooped and sagged at inappropriate intervals. Cups and plates were strewn about, scattered across tabletops and occasionally the floor. Now that things were winding down, the house elves didn't seem to give a crap about cleaning up every little mess and spill with their magic. Hermione would be pleased at their indifferent rebellion.

_Hermione. _Ron suppressed a grumble at the thought. She had harassed him the entire evening with requests to dance, and he had been far too busy glaring at Malfoy dancing with Ginny to be distracted by such trivial activities. He wasn't sure exactly _how _Malfoy and Ginny had managed to hook up in the course of the evening, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the bushy-haired witch had something to do with it, and here she was supposed to be one of his best friends! Harry's too, and how did she justify betraying either of them?

Then, too, Harry was no better, letting Malfoy just walk away with Ron's own sister like he did. At least Harry had glared at them right along with Ron, but really – it was as if Harry didn't even _care _that the bloody blond Death Eater had walked off with her in the end, or at least not enough to do anything about it beyond leaving in a huff himself and leaving Ron stranded.

Ron might have left as well, but someone had to keep an eye on Oliver and George. Not only had they spent the bulk of the evening dancing with each other, which Ron found troublesome as he couldn't imagine why they wouldn't just dance with Hermione and get her off his case, at some point in the evening, the two had managed to transfigure the punch fountain into an immense and terrifying monitor lizard, which had only been stopped after it had devoured several ladies' handbags. Why the pair hadn't been thrown out then was beyond him entirely, but they hadn't been, and here he was. At least there was still plenty of food, though; whoever was in charge of organizing that part of the event hadn't skimped in the least.

He glanced around, searching for Hermione to see if she wanted anything, but he didn't spot her anywhere. She'd been unreasonably cross with him about the whole dancing-versus-not-dancing issue, he felt, and if she wanted to disappear somewhere and sulk, that was her problem. He wasn't going to put himself out there for someone who didn't even back up her own friends.

A last few witches and wizards danced lazily as the wizarding band hired for the event played a tired, wheezing slow dance that fell somewhat short of keeping time. Stretching tiredly, Ron made his way around the dance floor and over to the end of the buffet table where the monitor lizard had not reached, finding that while the gala was winding down, the food hadn't yet begun to be packed in. A surplus of various flavored tarts caught his eye and he bit into a pumpkin-filled one. It was delicious, and with a furtive glance around, he picked up a few more and made to stuff them into the pockets of his dress robes.

"Ron? Is that you?" a voice asked, startling him; he looked up and was met with the sight of shining eyes and a mass of curly brown hair.

"Lavender?" he squeaked. "What are you doing here?"

It was the first time he'd seen Lavender since Hogwarts. She'd been at the battle, and he'd lost track of her in the fray. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard much of anything about her since, other than the fact that she had not been listed among the dead. She still had the bright-eyed, vibrant quality that had been her trademark, although she was thin, her cheeks hollow as they had never been at school, and her hair was somewhat less lustrous. He recalled that she had been badly injured, and supposed her changed appearance was the result of her injuries.

"Neville hired me to do the catering," she replied, smiling brightly. "Of course, the house elves do all the cooking, I only tell them what to make and organize what they bring out when… here, let me get you a box for those pumpkin tarts."

Ron found himself flushing red with embarrassment, the tarts feeling suddenly greasy in his hands and pockets as he watched Lavender wave her wand, producing a tin for the desserts.

"It would be silly to waste them," she explained, "so take as many as you like, and perhaps a few extra for your mum and dad if you're still at home. Are you?"

"Er… yeah, mostly," he replied, his crimson humiliation only deepening. Lavender, for her part, only smiled as she enlarged the tin and packed it full of different flavored pastries.

"Are you here with anyone?" she asked, a curious lilt in her voice.

"Uh, I was here with Harry, but he left," Ron supplied. Wait, hadn't he meant to say he was there with Hermione? But he'd gotten in on Harry's ticket, and suddenly Hermione was the last person he wanted to talk about, and Lavender was coming around from behind the table…

"Well, if you live with your mum and dad, and you're here on your own… does that mean you're single?"

xxxxx

Neville wandered down the hall to the service entrance. He was obligated to stay until the gala was over with, having helped organize it, but that didn't mean he couldn't slip outside for a brief escape from the smell of pumpkin tarts going stale and the wheezing drone of a tired band. Still, the night had been a successful one, largely due to the generosity and apparent desirability of Draco Malfoy. Neville had been surprised at the Slytherin's demeanor throughout the evening, or at least some of it; he was surprised neither by Malfoy's attraction to Ginny nor his competitive streak where the girl was concerned, but he hadn't expected Malfoy to be so… well… nice.

Neville was also quite surprised at the fact that he, himself, actually had a feeling that Malfoy and Ginny were somehow good for each other, in a way that had gone heretofore unsuspected. What an odd realization that had been. All those years ago when Neville had noted and been secretly pleased by Malfoy's jealous glances as he had escorted Ginny to the Yule Ball, he would never have guessed that it would come to this, or that it would be a good thing. Yet it was just that: a good thing, a chance for them to grow beyond themselves as they once were, as Malfoy had already demonstrated more than once that very evening.

He was curious to see where it might lead, and who else it might shake up, for a Malfoy dating a Weasley was in this day and age unprecedented. Certainly, forbidden romances had happened in the past between purebloods and blood traitors or even half-bloods or Muggleborns, but the difference was that in the modern wizarding world, pureblood families no longer imprisoned, Imperiused, or outright killed their own children, or those forbidden to their children, for such infractions. At least, not for the most part, and certainly the Malfoys wouldn't be able to get away with it these days even if they were so inclined, not in the present pro-Muggle social climate and with the Ministry watching their every move.

He could but laugh at himself, thinking of forbidden love like some girl, and a teenaged one at that, but there it was; he'd be tempted, maybe, to believe some of the rubbish in the Daily Prophet about Malfoy's possible ulterior motives, but there was something in his eyes, some truth behind his social niceties, that Neville didn't believe even the Slytherin could wholly fake. Showing kindness to him, the lowly Longbottom, was either a great deal of completely unnecessary icing on the cake, or the real deal. Add that to the fact that Malfoy's eyes had sought out Ginny since they were all nearly half a lifetime younger, and Neville was convinced it was the real thing.

Listen to him, he sounded like he was obsessed with Malfoy or something. No, it was nothing like that. Neville had been, perhaps a little, interested in Ginny; she was sweet and kind and ever more brave than he ever had been back then, and when someone else looked at Ginny the way he looked at her, he noticed. It was just that simple. Well, that and he had learned to keep an eye on Malfoy in case of sudden attack, but that hardly required further explanation.

Beyond that, Neville was just the sort of person who took notice. Quiet, shy, reserved, and always watching those around him go about their myriad lives, he had simply taken notice of certain things, like how Ginny had wanted to be with Harry and not him – well, that had stung, but it was _Harry Potter _of course, and it was hardly different than a girl preferring one of the Weird Sisters over him. Celebrity, that is to say, has a certain draw that is to be expected. Then, of course, was the fact that Harry wanted Cho, that Cho pined hopelessly for Cedric both before and after the Hufflepuff Seeker's horrible demise, and that Hermione had always looked at Ron a certain way, while Ron… Ron was his own special kind of oblivious.

As far as taking notice went, as he stepped into the damply cool air of a late summer night, he immediately took note of the quiet sniffling sound coming from the steps below. A bushy mane of hair that had been coaxed into a style it now rebelled against due to the humidity in the air immediately gave away the identity of the sniffler. Had it been anyone else, Neville might have walked away… but Hermione was a good friend.

"Hey," he called out, his voice soft as it nearly always was.

"Oh, Neville, you startled me," Hermione said, turning halfway toward him as she tried to dab inconspicuously at her eyes.

"Why are you crying?" he asked as he sank down onto the steps beside her.

"I wasn't… that is… I…" she stammered.

"It's about Ron, then?" he said, more of a question than a statement and coming right to the point.

"How do you always know?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded.

Neville only shrugged as he replied, "This was supposed to be like a date, right? But he's barely paid attention to you all evening."

"I honestly don't know what this was supposed to be," Hermione said, a note of bitterness creeping into her voice. "There was some talk of trying to get Ginny together with Harry for the evening, and I knew it was absolute rubbish, but I… I went along with it, because I thought I was to be going with Ron and that maybe he'd finally see me as something more… but of course Ginny went off with Malfoy, and that's fine and all, but it's like Ron just… just wrote me off at that point and I… I just don't know…"

"That whole plan… it was Ron's idea, right?" Neville suggested knowingly.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"Well for one thing, you're right; it really is rubbish," he answered, nudging her with his elbow and coaxing a fragment of a laugh from her. "And for another thing, I can see that Ron backed off from you when it fell through, and I remember how well he deals with failure."

"It isn't even only tonight," she continued. "It's been years and I can hardly get him to look at me as something more than a friend – it's like he sees me as Harry, almost, only Harry's… well… _Harry. _He'll always be on a pedestal, just a little bit, even with those who know him best."

"I can certainly understand that," Neville remarked. "For all that he's famous, though, I wouldn't want to be in Harry's place for anything in the world… and I almost was."

"Oh, of course… the prophecy," Hermione replied. "I'd almost forgotten…"

"As if you'd forget anything," he said good-naturedly. "Ron's… well… he's rather dense, isn't he? I don't mean to be blunt, but maybe you've been using a cheering charm where you need a blasting curse. Not literally, of course… but you should try being forward about it and see what he does."

"You're absolutely right, Neville!" Hermione beamed. "I should go in there and tell him, just tell him outright that I've liked him for ages. No… no, I'll _show _him! I'll… yes… and he won't even know what hit him… thank you, Neville!"

With a squeal and a hug, she was off. Neville was reasonably sure that Ron wasn't about to actually get hit, despite the fact that Hermione had reached the point where her brain worked faster than her mouth and he had no idea what she planned to do. Nonetheless, he was pleased to be of help. And his break was long since over; even though he actually didn't have a set timetable for breaks, he felt uncomfortable abandoning the gala for too long. It felt too much like shirking a duty.

Of course, he hardly expected that he'd come back to the gala only to find Hermione stalled in the arch of the hallway, staring in horror as Ron forcefully snogged Lavender Brown in front of the dessert table.

"That… miserable _bastard…_" she whimpered, sounding on the verge of tears, her voice causing George and Oliver to look up from their game of Exploding Snap at a nearby table.

"Shit…" George hissed as he followed her gaze across the room, jumping to his feet. "Neville, come help me pry those two apart, it's well past time Ron and I went home anyway. Oliver..." he added with a nod toward Hermione, "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," Oliver replied kindly, moving quickly to Hermione's side. "Let's get you home then, shall we?"

"Yes, please," Hermione said shakily, taking Oliver's hand when he offered it. "I don't want to be here any longer."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," George said quietly. Hermione only gave the smallest nod before letting Oliver lead her away.

So much for that, Neville thought bleakly. What was that Muggle saying about best-laid plans?

"Ought to have known he'd find some way to bollocks this up," George grumbled, glaring at his younger brother. "Let's get this over with, yeah?"

Neville sighed; Lavender was working for him, and at the very least she shouldn't be snogging on the job, but he regretted the necessity of having to deal with the task at all. The unshed tears glistening in Hermione's eyes had said it all.

xxxxx

They tumbled through the doorway, leaving the dorm and the hall and the world behind them as the door fell shut. Draco's mouth was hungry against hers as he kissed her with an urgency born of long-frustrated attraction. Her hands betrayed her desire as they roamed over him desperately, seeming to want to travel in half a dozen different directions at once, settling at last on the lapels of his coat which he'd put back on before leaving the gala. And there they froze, clinging to the expensive cloth as though hesitant to go any further.

"Weasley," he whispered, taking one of her hands in his and pressing his lips to the palm. "Weasley, look at me."

She kept her eyes closed tightly; what was she thinking? She was the one who had initiated this, who had insisted, and now, in the close quarters of his dorm room, it all seemed frighteningly real. This was no fairy tale; no happily-ever-after was guaranteed, let alone a happy morning-after given the circumstances. Her thoughts were clouded by champagne and firewhiskey, and she couldn't put a name to her feelings to save her life, but for one thing that seemed clear: _she wanted this._ Oh, how she wanted it, wanted _him, _even though it was true that he was the last person she _should _want... but she wanted, nonetheless.

"Ginevra," his voice came softly to her ears, and this time, she opened her eyes, his use of her given name bringing her back to the moment.

His gaze was dark, heated, and filled with need, and her lips were upon his again, her momentary uncertainty forgotten. His lips fell to her jaw, kissing that delicate line to her throat, which loosed a moan at the caress of lips and tongue and teeth.

His coat was swiftly discarded on the floor, and seemingly in the same motion he spun her around so her back was to his chest. His mouth latched onto her neck again, sucking softly at tender flesh as his fingers trailed across her collarbone, reaching the strap of her dress and drawing it off of her shoulder. She stifled a gasp as his hand found her exposed breast, cupping the mound of flesh and kneading gently. The other strap of her dress was teased away, and she hardly noticed until the silken material slithered, whisper-soft, over her curves to pool on the floor, and the cool air of the room washed over her skin, still hot from the night outside.

Those hands were all over her then, fingers trailing over her hardened nipples and down her belly. She was pulled back against him tightly enough that she could feel the buttons of his shirt trapped between them, pressing into her naked back, and below those… She pressed the curve of her bum against him, earning a rough growl against her neck as his hand plunged downward, fingers dragging over the small patch of lace that covered her before snaking beneath it. She arched against him with a cry as he touched her there; it had been so very long since another person had, and quite possibly, no one had ever felt as demanding as his fingers did when they sank into her slick heat.

She rolled her hips against his hand as he explored her slowly, his touch teasing yet commanding, and she thought she finally understood what he meant when he'd once told her he wasn't tame in the bedroom. Harry had never touched her this way, not with this air of confidence, nor had he ever touched her without first asking if it was what she wanted. It was respectful and she couldn't fault him for it, but she had never been able to make him understand that what she wanted most of all was not to have to be asked. This touch was wonderfully different, making fire race through her veins and pool in her belly, causing her hips to buck wantonly against his hand, his _hand, _for Merlin's sake, and if Malfoy could do that with his fingers, then what would he be like in bed?

Then the fingers withdrew, and her moan of protest was stifled in a deep kiss as he turned her to face him again, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts once more, thumbs rubbing over her sensitive peaks, making her whimper into his mouth in pleasure. Her fingers were working at the buttons on his shirt, moving as though detached from her brain, but effective nonetheless, and a moment later his hands fell away from her body to accommodate his shirt as she stripped it from him. Her lips trailed down his neck to his chest, peppering kisses over the smooth, pale skin, drawing a shuddering sigh from his lips.

His hands found her hips and gripped them as he began walking her backward toward the bed, their lips locked once more. He lowered her to the mattress slowly, settling a knee between her thighs as he leaned over her, kissing his way down her neck and over the round of her breast until his mouth reached her nipple. Her fingers wound into his short platinum hair as he worked the bud with his tongue and lips, leaving it tinted a deep reddish-pink and moving on to its mate. Ginny was nearly breathless with ecstasy by the time he pulled back, looking at her with a longing in his eyes that was familiar, yet more intense than she had ever seen it before.

"Weasley, you're bloody gorgeous," he remarked quietly as he surveyed her nearly naked form, pleased to discover that her infamous blush did, indeed, extend beyond her face.

"Ginny," she corrected. "If we're in bed, it's Ginny."

"Ginny, then," he replied with a crooked half-smile before reclaiming her lips.

Her hands drifted down his chest, lazily, almost, though driven on by the urgent need possessing both of them. He broke the kiss as she reached his belt, his breath hitching in his chest, and buried his face in her neck. She unfastened his belt and trousers, pushing them down as far as she could reach before she palmed his hardened length through the fabric of his silk boxers – black, of course, she noted with amusement. He bucked involuntarily against her hand, groaning against her neck as she reached under the waistband and gripped him firmly.

"Gods, Weasley – _Ginny_ – I need you," he moaned into her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

She kissed him in response, feeling him throb in her hand as she did so. Then he was pulling back, stripping his trousers from where they'd pooled at his ankles and sending his boxers to the floor after them. He stood naked before her, and while she knew something of his physique from playing Quidditch with him and from the handful of times she'd seen him shirtless, she was nonetheless struck by the way the faint moonlight played over his lean musculature, highlighting every plane, point, and hollow. As she caught sight of his lower region, her mind blanked but for an errant memory of George betting her twenty galleons that the carpet would _not _match the drapery. The bet, a ludicrous one made ages ago in their school days, hadn't taken into account that she might one day sleep with Malfoy, but it looked like she had just become twenty galleons richer.

Draco leaned over her again, settling between her thighs as he slid his tongue into her mouth. His rigid flesh grazed against her excited heat and she shifted her hips to press herself against him. A heartbeat later, he was easing into her, a mutual groan tearing their kiss apart as he sank in deep. His eyes fell closed as a shiver coursed through his body; she was tight and slick and he was, damn it all, much closer to the edge already than he wanted to be, though as he pulled back and slid his aching length into her to the hilt again, it seemed she was not far off either.

He rolled his hips, setting a slow yet firm pace that let her build without pushing him too far, and he was amazed at how she responded to him. It was like nothing else, this, with her; it was perhaps closest to flying together, each anticipating the other and shifting to balance the other's movements, but this was so much deeper than that.

A thick, aching tension was building in him more quickly than he'd anticipated; her breathy, wordless moans in his ear, her hands gripping his back and tangling in his hair, her legs twined with his, her body arching against him, all these things urged him on, his release mounting and drowning out everything that wasn't her…

And then she was shuddering around him, her body gripping him impossibly tightly as she climaxed, wordless shouts and groans suddenly forming into his name, not Malfoy but _Draco,_ and with a strangled groan he thrust deep and came. He collapsed on top of her, his breath heavy in her ear until he fell to the side. She curled against him, his flesh warm to her touch.

"It's never been like that before," she whispered, her eyes wide with awe and confusion. "I've never… at the end…"

It took him a moment to process exactly what she meant, and he was struck speechless for a moment. Surely, Ginny Weasley wasn't telling him that she'd never had an orgasm before… It was a bit much to think about at present, he decided.

"Hush," he murmured, tangling a hand in her hair as her head rested on his shoulder. "Sleep."

She nodded, letting herself relax against him, and before long she had drifted off. Malfoy stared at the ceiling. He wasn't so inebriated that he couldn't realize he'd just made a bad misstep. This was exactly what he'd sworn he wouldn't do. It was a long time before sleep would come.

* * *

**A/N: So, how was that? If you liked it, please review! The next chapter should come much sooner than this one did; again, my sincerest apologies.**

**I have received a truly phenomenal number of reviews in my absence! My greatest thanks to TheColdFlame, Lost Enchanter, Mrs. Dimoski, rtag, Nutmeg44, Princess Pheonix Tears, Greenstuff, Nacilme, Mkady, ChicOnaBoom, Snaluck, Amethyst-Rose, darinmeg, Nina10966, Baby Got Black, Aikoyu Saotome, Captain Carrot Cactus, Dracosbaby7, Kay8abc, Moon Surfer, shana rose, Elizabeth Riddle, you're-thestorm, RaeRaeMae-xoxo, Imsluhzdm, fari9986, PrincessK16, ivyjag, babyscardinal, mykk47, PurpleGem589, Silver Lining, yellow 14, hilleri, Doodlez2012, Cassie616, x501, muminSarita, Kaleena-S, and texanite! **

**Truly, such encouraging readers are a gift to any writer, and I am so pleased to hear from you!  
**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is T.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Another update! Here's hoping I can keep this up for a while this time. Hope you enjoy! =)**

* * *

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 25: Owls and Howlers_**

The water of the shower beat down on Draco as he stood under it. He was already clean, his hair long since washed, and the heating charm on the water was beginning to wear off, yet he was hesitant to leave. He had finally slept a handful of hours, waking to find Ginny in his bed, a portrait of contentment that left him wracked with guilt as the events of the night before played through his mind with perfect clarity. She was still out there, asleep, or would she have woken up by now? Perhaps she would even have gone back to her own room by the time he was done in here and he wouldn't have to deal with it at all until he'd had time to think about it.

Now really, what were the odds of that?

Of course she would wait for him. What would he say to her? It was a problem, and one that was his fault. He'd grant that she had made certain choices last night right along with him, but she hadn't half of his proverbial baggage and it should have been up to him to shield her from that.

He lingered in the shower until the water was unpleasantly cool, though the warmth of summer kept it from being remotely chilled. Only when he could no longer stand the nasty, tepid feeling that was not unlike that of a bath that had stood too long did he finally concede that it was time to face her. Slytherins, he noted as he toweled himself dry, truly were not known for their courage.

xxxxx

Ginny woke alone; though the space in bed next to her was rumpled, it had long since grown cold. Three potion bottles stood on the nightstand next to her: one green, one blue, and one purple. At the sight of the potions, the memories of the night before came flooding back. She hadn't drunk nearly enough to need the first two, for neither her stomach nor her head were feeling any ill effects, but the last, a contraceptive potion… yes, she would definitely be needing that one. She remembered it all perfectly.

Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, though the sound of running water led her to guess where he was. So he hadn't left, after all. When she went to the door, however, she found it locked. Her heart sank just a little, but perhaps it was nothing. It could be that he just didn't want her to walk in on anything embarrassing.

She returned to the bed and sat, holding the purple potion in her hands. Her cheeks flamed red. She couldn't believe the things they'd done last night, and the way he'd made her feel, not only emotionally but physically as well. As far as emotions went she didn't know what she felt, exactly, only that he made her feel warm inside when she was around him. Physically, he had made her feel things she'd never felt before, or at least not as intensely, even with Harry. It had been… well… amazing…

She started as the bathroom door clicked open, revealing Malfoy clad only in a towel slung low around his hips, displaying his lean, toned physique to which a scattering of water droplets still clung. He rubbed his white-blond hair dry with a second towel, causing it to stick up in all directions. Spotting her, he stopped short.

"Weasley," he stated, his voice soft yet somehow awkward. "I didn't expect you'd still be here."

"Where would I be, exactly?" Ginny asked, frowning slightly as she tried to suss out what he might be implying.

"I figured you'd probably go running back to your room as soon as you realized what we did last night," he said matter-of-factly, eyeing her with caution. "I see you've found the potion I left out for you."

"Not the classiest morning-after, is it?" she replied.

"It isn't the worst, either," he shrugged. "Take the potion or don't, it's up to you, but my obligation ends there."

Ginny's face flushed red again, this time out of anger, as she pulled the stopper from the bottle and drank. She tossed the empty bottle on the nightstand carelessly where it hit the unused hangover potions with a clatter, and without a word she dressed, gathered her things, and made to leave.

"You know," she said, pausing at the door, "you're a real bastard."

Malfoy flinched as the door slammed behind her. Leaning back slightly, he slid down the wall until he sat on the floor. He ran a hand through his towel-mussed hair, watching as a few stray droplets of water fell from it to land on the floor in front of him.

"Yes, I know," he replied softly to no one.

This was not the way he'd meant to part ways from her, but what could he do? She would soon be living in Holyhead, he in Falmouth, and he couldn't afford to make this an emotional goodbye. He couldn't afford the hurt that would cause. Neither of them could afford the hurt he would inevitably cause her, whether he wanted to or not. He absolutely didn't want to.

Nonetheless, he obviously had.

A flurry of flapping wings and tapping of beaks on glass caught his attention; no less than three owls were pestering to be let in, one bearing what looked like his copy of the Daily Prophet and the others with letters. He rose from the floor and moved to the window to relieve the owls of their deliveries.

As the copy of the Prophet fell open, the front page caught his eye immediately.

"Oh, fuck…"

He turned his attention to the letters in his hand, which only caused him to utter the obscenity again. There were not more appropriate words to describe how bad this was. Nor, he realized, would he be the only one receiving unwelcome owls that morning.

xxxxx

Ginny looked around the room, satisfied that she'd collected everything; in fact, almost all her things had been in her trunk for days. Training was over and it was time to pack up and leave; she'd been drafted to Holyhead, a reality born of a dream cherished beyond all others. Still, a very large part of her knew that she would miss the time she had spent here, and the people she'd spent that time with… really, one person in particular. His broomstick rested across the top of her trunk, reminding her that it needed to be returned, for the time of the loan was up. She wished she'd remembered earlier. Malfoy was probably gone by now…

She sighed. What was she going to do about Malfoy? They'd been friendly, well, perhaps a bit _more _than friendly over the past few months, but not much more than that. Then, there had been the gala… and then, _afterward_…

Oh, _why _had she gone and slept with him? That wasn't the type of friendship they had, was it? Ginny rubbed her hand across her eyes tiredly. She hadn't intended for this to happen. _Wanted, _maybe, but hadn't she known better? And his reaction had been… what? Casual indifference at best. As if he didn't really _care _that they'd been together. Was it nothing for him? Or worse, did he regret it? Worst of all, was this only the end of some elaborate plan to sleep with her and walk away?

No, she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that last possibility, not even of him. More likely, it was just a direction he hadn't intended for their friendship to take. Hell, _she _had regrets. This wasn't what they were supposed to be. Maybe forgetting about it was for the best. Maybe he wouldn't even give her the option; he seemed pretty well on his way to writing it off as it was.

She'd have time to think it over during her stay at the Burrow over the next few weeks, after which she'd move on to Holyhead. With luck, she could have it all sorted out before her time with her new team began.

Picking up the broomstick and levitating her trunk behind her, she opened the door, not wanting to miss her Floo time and have to wait for a later one. She wasn't really watching where she was going, lost in thought as she was, so she wasn't able to stop herself in time to avoid running into the very object of her preoccupation, who stood outside her door with his hand raised to knock.

A startled look came over his face as they collided, his arms encircling her instinctively and they both lurched unsteadily from the impact. The black turtleneck had put in another appearance, she noticed as her face planted in his chest, owing, no doubt, to impending Floo travel. The warmth of his body pressed against her, along with the smell that was uniquely his, brought a flood of memories from the night before crashing down on her, and she kept her face tilted down, trying to hide her wretched blush. She remembered the firm feel of him, the smoothness of his skin under her fingertips, his breath in her ear as he groaned her name…

She shook her head imperceptibly, clearing her thoughts as she took a half-step back from him. It wouldn't do to get so flustered when he was clearly determined to remain unattached.

"Did you need something, Malfoy? It's a good thing for me that you're still here, because I've only just realized I still need to give your broom back."

There, that was good and neutral. No feelings. _No feelings, Ginny! _she reminded herself harshly.

"Keep it for now. You'll need to keep in shape until you join your team in a few weeks."

"How will I get it back to you?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "I expect I'll be rather busy. I might not have time to meet up."

"Just owl it," he replied distractedly.

Ginny felt her heart sink with disappointment. So he really _didn't _care if he saw her again after this. She kept her expression carefully still, though, for she refused to let him see that feeling on her face.

"We have bigger issues to deal with at present, Weasley," he continued, his face taking on a mild scowl as he held out a scrap of parchment for her to read. "We've been _summoned._"

"'Summoned'? What?" she asked, grabbing the letter he held and looking it over. "'Dearest Draco, please make yourself available for dinner tonight, and be sure to invite the young lady we're hearing so much about. Love, Mother and Father.' What's this all about? I wasn't under the impression you'd told your parents anything about me."

"I didn't. Have you seen the Daily Prophet this morning?"

"No…" Ginny replied, a feeling of dread settling in her stomach. "I didn't bother taking out a subscription because somebody always leaves one lying about in the lounge. Why?"

Malfoy smiled humorlessly and held up the front page of his copy for her to see. '_Malfoy Heir and Youngest Weasley: Prince and Princess of Quidditch?_' read the bold headline emblazoned across the front page, beneath which two black and white images moved in disturbing synchrony; in the first, obviously taken at the ball, they danced elegantly, while in the second, clearly taken sometime after the after party, they appeared to be snogging shamelessly, only partially obscured by some shrubbery outside the training dorm as their hands roved wantonly over each other.

"'Are Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley destined to become the new royalty of Quidditch? While the first of these photographs could show nothing more than a casual dance at a mutually-attended social event, and the latter could and likely will be interpreted any number of ways, it seems clear to this reporter that this is a story with all the makings of a fairy-tale romance on the Quidditch pitch, and the entire Wizarding World will undoubtedly follow these two with a keen eye in the months to come,'" Ginny read aloud, a look of abject horror spreading across her features. "Bloody Merlin, when my parents see this… Oh, and it's that damn Skeeter woman again!"

"Naturally," Malfoy agreed. "That woman is determined to get something on me, and it looks as though she finally has. Though I daresay she'd have preferred a photo of me hexing you into oblivion."

As though on cue, two owls arrived at Ginny's window, pecking furiously; as she re-entered her room and let them in, she recognized both her parents' owl and the little burrowing owl that belonged to her brother, the latter of which carried a red envelope that was beginning to smoke. Ginny's face paled as she spotted the Howler, and she wrested it from the little owl and bolted to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her just as it exploded and began to bellow in Ron Weasley's voice.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow as snatches of the screaming missive reached his ears through the closed bathroom door; obviously, Ginny hadn't had time to get off a silencing charm before the Howler blew. Phrases such as _'shaming your family,' '__snogging like a bloody trollop_,' '_my sister with a bloody Malfoy_,' and '_one thing to put one over on Harry, another for the whole of the wizarding world to see!_' could be heard with remarkable clarity, and as a small crowd was beginning to gather at the end of the hall to see what the commotion was, some with copies of the Prophet in hand, Malfoy stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Apparently the wretched Weasel's howler-amplified voice carried quite well.

When Ginny finally emerged from the bathroom, the sounds of the Howler shredding itself furiously drifting through the doorway behind her, she looked close to tears. Malfoy grimaced as she sat heavily on the bed, wiping preemptively at her eyes. He wanted to offer her some kind of comfort, but in light of the previous night's events, even that seemed complicated and loaded with unspoken implications that he wasn't yet ready to address. Yet, she looked so horribly vulnerable…

Whether to distract herself from Ron's howler or to get another berating out of the way, she wasn't sure which, Ginny opened the note from her parents. It was much more kindly written, but laced with many of the same implications; her parents were _concerned _about such public displays, and had been _under the impression _that there had been nothing going on between their daughter and 'the Malfoy boy', despite Ron's previous claims. When she reached the bottom, she laughed humorlessly.

"What?" Malfoy asked, and she felt the mattress sink next to her as he finally sat.

"My parents want us to come to dinner," she replied without looking up.

"When?" he inquired, though he had a sinking feeling that he already knew.

"Tonight," she replied numbly, and when she did finally look at him, she saw that he'd hung his head.

It was a thorny situation indeed, for neither set of parents could be put off without being told that it was for dinner with the other set, which would be the only reason they'd view as sufficient, yet each set would take dinner with the other as proof that there was actually some truth to the whole affair. Which there was, but neither of them was ready to admit it to their families.

"My mum will never let it go," Ginny added quietly.

"Neither will mine. We'll have to go to dinner tonight, or she'll hunt you down on her own, and I rather think there are some questions you'd prefer to let me answer. Not to mention how my father will react."

"I'm _not _afraid of your mother," Ginny replied, her voice laced with indignance. "Or your father."

"Liar," Malfoy smirked slightly. Ginny didn't bother to correct him; he was right. The idea of being cornered by either of the elder Malfoys at a random place and time was decidedly intimidating.

"We should do dinner at the Burrow first," Ginny decided at last. "Things are likely to devolve into a screaming match, especially if Ron is there and I think we can count on that. Dinner with your parents will give us an excuse to leave, and I daresay your parents will at least allow me to depart in a timely fashion."

"And you'll go back to the Burrow?" he asked. "Won't they still be angry at you?"

"Oh, Ron will be absolutely livid, and my parents will want to talk about it. I think George has been suspicious of something like this for a while now, and he'll want to stir the cauldron just to watch it boil. Better to have it all out at once, though, especially since there's nothing actually going on. At least, nothing that will repeat itself."

Malfoy didn't want to admit to himself that her words had an effect on him, but they did. He knew the previous night had been the result of alcohol consumption and decisions poorly made. It was a mistake, though he hated how that sounded in his head. He knew he should just walk away, that it should be written off and allowed to pass unremarked between them until it was water so far under the bridge that it may as well not have happened at all.

He knew this, but knowing and wanting were two very different things.

"I didn't mean to treat you so harshly this morning," he admitted cautiously. "It was not my intention to make you feel…"

"Cheap? Used? Unwanted?" Ginny supplied.

"Yes, those things," he replied, cringing at the words she had chosen. "I want you to understand…"

"Understand what?" she asked, glancing sideways at him.

He sighed. This conversation was going to be so much more involved than he wanted it to be.

"My first time was… awkward. I was fifteen, and there was this seventh year. She was of age; I'm sure it was horribly illegal on her part, but I was a cocky little shit and I really didn't care. There was a sort of allure to it, you know?"

"That's understandable, I suppose," Ginny said uncomfortably. "But why are you telling me this?"

"Afterward, I used a spell my father had taught me. He always warned me one couldn't depend on witches to be telling the truth about having taken potions and the like, and it was made clear to me that no illegitimate heirs would be tolerated. She said she'd taken a potion and I used the spell anyway, exactly as I'd been told to do."

"What happened?"

"It turns out that if a witch has taken a potion, the spell does nothing. If, on the other hand, the witch in question has lied about it, it gets the job done. With rather unpleasant side effects. She hadn't taken it; she was trying to force my family into some sort of obligation, whether financial or marital I never found out. In any case, she apparently bled for a week and subsequently called me a bastard in front of the whole common room."

Ginny bit her lip as the insult she'd hurled at him that morning rang in her ears.

"Now I prefer to use potions only," he continued. "I supply them and I don't sleep with a witch until after she's taken it. I didn't mean it to be offensive. It's just something I do. I don't want to end up in… that kind of situation."

"You don't want children," she replied, more a statement than a question.

"At least not from some desperate shag with a witch who's lied about taking a potion so she can take a crack at the Malfoy name. That isn't the only reason, but no, I don't particularly want children."

"That isn't what you did with me," Ginny reflected. "You gave it to me afterward. Why?"

"I suppose I trust you," he replied. "As much as I can, anyway."

An awkward silence fell as Ginny contemplated what she'd just been told. It was unlike Malfoy to volunteer that sort of thing about himself so readily, but she supposed she could see why he had; it certainly did help her understand him a little better, and she no longer felt quite so hurt by how the morning had played out.

"I suppose I should tell you about when I lost my virginity," she offered after some thought.

"Unless an older witch shagged you when you were underage and tried to get pregnant on the sly, I'm not sure how it's relevant," he stated, feeling a slight, unwelcome surge of jealousy.

"It's just that I want to share in turn," she replied with a sly look that did not make Malfoy any more comfortable.

"Really, it's not necessary," he insisted. The last thing he wanted to hear about was some recounting of a Ginny Weasley boyfriend parade, particularly since he barely had a leg to stand on in that department. Whatever he was to her, he certainly wasn't that. Yet. No, _at all. _He couldn't afford to indulge in false hope.

"I was ten. Fred and George were there…" she continued, a faraway look on her face.

"… Now I'm _very _certain this is a story I don't want to hear," he said, his expression turning to horror.

"We were practicing at Quidditch in the yard. They liked to try hitting Bludgers at me because I was very fast on a broom. It was terribly good fun. Anyway, the cushioning charm on my broom broke and I landed rather hard against the handle. A sharp impact like that can do it sometimes, you know. There was blood everywhere, Fred started shouting, and George just went white as a sheet, picked me up and carried me inside. I can't imagine what Mum thought, with all the yelling and the blood, and me with tears all down my face. I couldn't make a sound, it was such a shock."

"That's… not nearly as bad as I was expecting," he sighed with relief.

Ginny giggled. "Honestly, the look on your face when I brought up Fred and George… you really believe Weasleys will do _anything, _don't you?"

"I do not! It just didn't seem like a setup that was going to lead anywhere good," he said defensively. "Anyway, I'm not sure how much that counts."

"I'm not either," she confessed. "When Harry came along… sorry if you don't want to hear this, but it didn't feel like much of anything. It was odd, to be sure, and awkward, and I kept waiting for it to be different and it just never was. It's not Harry's fault, you understand; I think at some point, he just became too much like family."

"That's a mental image I really didn't need, Weasley," he said with slight sourness in his voice, and she laughed again. The unspoken implication of her story hung between them: _Last night was different. _And it had been, for both of them.

Ginny was surprised when Draco rested his hand on her head, and more so when he pressed a small kiss to her temple. When she glanced at him, his face was a mask of forced stoicism, but he couldn't quite hide the turmoil in his eyes.

"I can't offer you much, Weasley. I don't know what I'm doing here," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for that."

"Perhaps we're better as friends," she suggested. "For now, anyway."

"Perhaps," he agreed, though he wasn't at all certain it was the truth.

"I suppose we'd better set our parents straight on that at dinner then."

"I'll let my parents know by owl," he replied. "That said, I have an errand to run when I leave here and I could use some company. Would you mind coming with me?"

"I've got my trunk and everything," Ginny replied uncertainly.

"I can have my parents' house elf take it for you. He's already taken mine."

Ginny thought about it before agreeing, though she didn't have to think very hard. She didn't even know what the errand was, but she supposed it had to be better than what she knew was waiting for her at the Burrow. She wrote a note to her parents telling them what time to expect them for dinner and attached it to her trunk, then watched it disappear with the house elf Malfoy summoned before following him to the fireplace in the lounge.

"Where are we going anyway?" she asked curiously as he scooped a handful of Floo powder and drew her into the fireplace with him, holding her against him closely.

He smirked, threw the Floo powder down, and answered, "St. Mungo's hospital."

They were whisked away through the Floo network, unfamiliar grates whirling by, and moments later they were deposited onto the hearth in the hospital's visitor's lounge.

"Who do you know that's in St. Mungo's?" she asked, perplexed.

He handed her a note, the second letter he had received by owl that morning, and as Ginny read it, her nose wrinkled in disdain.

"You have got to be joking."

"I'm not," he replied with a smirk.

"We're here to visit Pansy Parkinson?" Ginny asked, disgusted.

"We are."

* * *

**A/N: Eww, Pansy! Don't freak out, guys. I won't make her too horrible or anything. If you liked this chapter, please review and let me know! And, can you believe it, this story now has over 250 reviews! That is a LOT of reviews! Please keep them coming, because I love to hear from my readers! =D**

**My thanks to Greenstuff, Princess Pheonix Tears, bingbangboom5, shana rose, Nutmeg44, samsbk, Kay8abc, amethyst-rose, PixieDust319, Kaleena-S, Nacilme, Aikoyu Saotome, and babyscardinal for their reviews on the last chapter!  
**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is T.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Okay, I will admit that Pansy is slightly (really) canon-breaking, but I had a lot of fun with her. Enjoy Pansy, and the rest of the chapter! =)**

* * *

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 26: How the Muggles Do It  
_**

Ginny stared down at the note in her hand, her jaw slack as she read it a second time.

_Dearest Draco,_

_I trust by now you realize that there are pictures of you snogging the Weasley girl on the front page of every paper in wizarding Britain. As I am presently in St. Mungo's (nothing that wasn't meant to happen, don't fret) and cannot come to you, I insist that you come visit me. And bring the Weasley. I need the entertainment!_

_With love,_

_Pansy_

"You really expect me to visit Pansy Parkinson?" Ginny asked again. She wasn't even going to try to address the closing sentiment _'with love'…_

"It's Parkinson-Nott now, actually, but I really would appreciate it," Draco replied.

"That mean, pug-faced, evil little… she actually got _married?_"

"To Theodore Nott, as you've probably guessed. And she really isn't that bad," Malfoy coaxed. "I think you'll find that she's a bit… different… than she was in our school days."

"You're saying she _isn't _planning to ridicule me over that absolutely humiliating photo array in the Daily Prophet?" Ginny asked doubtfully. "Not bloody likely."

"She might," Draco admitted. "I think it's more likely she'll want to ridicule me for getting caught with my pants down… er… proverbially speaking."

"Yes, well _thank Merlin _they didn't get a picture of _that,_" Ginny snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Look, I'm not saying she's necessarily changed for the better; you'll have to decide that for yourself," he persisted. "But I do think you'll find that she's changed for the more entertaining, at least."

"What do you mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Parkinson-Nott?" he replied, arching an eyebrow meaningfully. "Traditional Purebloods don't tend to hyphenate their names upon marriage, you realize."

"Yes, I thought that was odd. I thought it was more of a Muggle naming convention…" Ginny's brow furrowed in thought, but her eyes snapped wide a second later. "You don't mean…"

"I do," Draco smirked. "Pansy is now a fan of all things Muggle."

"… That, I may have to see," Ginny admitted grudgingly.

"You have no idea how much," he continued. "If I've understood the note correctly, she's here in St. Mungo's because she's finally had her baby, and she has promised to name it something spectacular, and _Muggle._ It's bound to be ridiculous."

Ginny stifled a giggle. "Pansy Parkinson… Parkinson-Nott, rather… is going to attempt to raise an actual human being?"

"See? You have to come see her. Besides, if you don't, she'll never let me alone about it."

"Hmph," Ginny snorted. "Well, at least I know her baby isn't yours, paranoid as you are."

"Oh, gods, don't even joke about it. I can't begin to imagine sleeping with Pansy," Malfoy groaned in disgust.

"Seriously? Harry and Ron always told me she was all over you at Hogwarts," Ginny asked in surprise.

"Well, she was, in a way; she was always at me not to become a Death Eater. She thought it dangerous and unsavory. She was right, of course. And of course Potter and the Weasel would think otherwise. Granger absolutely _hated _her."

"I rather thought _that _sentiment was mutual."

Draco shugged. "That is probably true. But the reality of it is that Pansy took it upon herself from our first year to act like a sister to me, and even if it was purely against my will and she was really annoying about it at times, I didn't exactly hate her for it."

"It's hard to picture you with anything like a sister," Ginny scoffed. Draco's face twitched slightly at her words, and an expression she couldn't put a name to was gone so quickly that she couldn't even be sure she'd really seen it.

"So, will you come see her?" he asked, giving Ginny the distinct impression he was being evasive.

"I'm already here, so I might as well," she sighed. "But if she starts making fun of me, I'll leave."

"I'd expect nothing less," Malfoy smirked, extending his arm to lead Ginny to Pansy's room. Reluctantly, she took it.

xxxxx

"Draco!" Pansy cried, her puggish face lighting up as they entered the room, making her look surprisingly pleasant. "And you've brought the Weasley girl!"

"You can call me Ginny," she offered. _Might as well try to start things off on a friendly note…_

"Ginny, is it? I'm not certain I ever knew your name in school. Well… it's rather sweet."

"Pansy," Malfoy returned the greeting. "You look tired."

"Of course I do, you ass! I've just given birth!" Pansy screeched, though she smiled as she did. "You try pushing a human being out of you, and see how you look after the fact."

"Thank you, Pansy. That was not an image I needed," he replied. "I assume Theo's here somewhere?"

"Of course, he's gone to fetch an orderly to bring the baby along. He should be here at any moment… Ah, here he is."

The door opened to admit the Slytherin in question, an orderly following behind. The latter moved forward and nestled a tiny, pink-faced infant in Pansy's waiting arms.

"Nott," Draco greeted him formally.

"Malfoy," the other replied, and Ginny felt a palpable tension in the room. "Good of you to come."

Nott's eye roved over to Ginny, and she thought she saw a faint look of surprise on his face, but being that he was a Slytherin it was difficult to be sure.

"Speaking of names, have you come up with something sufficiently Muggle? Personally I don't think you'd go amiss with a solid wizarding name like Orion," Draco said, once more directing his attention to Pansy.

"Well, you wouldn't," Pansy smirked at him. "Muggle names are terribly in vogue now that the war's over. But Orion's a boys' name anyway, and we've got a girl. And her name… is Viagra."

"Well that's an odd name even for a Muggle, isn't it?" Malfoy replied, his face scrunching in confusion as Pansy and Theo beamed proudly.

"That isn't a Muggle name," Ginny pointed out, "at least, not for people."

"Whatever do you mean?" Pansy asked, her brow furrowing. "I hear it's all the rage with Muggles right now. They talk about it on their television all the time, or so I'm told."

"It's a Muggle drug, something their doctors give them… it's… er…" Ginny found all eyes in the room on her, waiting expectantly. "Well, they use it for... you know... when they can't... _perform._ Sexually."

"_That's _where I've heard that name before," Malfoy replied, snapping his fingers. "There was a big to-do in the Prophet some time ago about how Muggle drugs are finding their way into the wizarding world. I heard that if you take it recreationally, you can go all night. Er… not that I'd need it, of course."

"Yeah, my mum heard about it from a friend of hers, and she asked my dad what it was at dinner. I've never seen either of them turn that red. George and Ron were in stitches over it," Ginny added, rolling her eyes at his assertion.

"Oh… oh, this is _terrible!_" Pansy cried out. "I thought it was a river in America or Canada or something, the one with a great, big waterfall!"

"That's the _Niagara,_" Malfoy supplied. "You know, I went there once with my parents, when I was ten. Father had a business trip to New York City, and he took Mother and I along, and Mother wanted to see the falls so we took a side-trip upstate…"

"I don't care if your parents took you to the bloody _moon, _Draco!" Pansy wailed. "My child cannot be named after some drug Muggle men take for their… for their _penises!_"

"Have you turned in the birth certificate yet?" Ginny asked, wincing as Pansy wailed in the affirmative. "You may still be able to change it, if you can catch it before it's sent to the Ministry."

"Oh, Theo! Theo, hurry!" Pansy cried, spurring her husband out the door. "Oh, but what will I change it to? It took me _months _to come up with something!"

"Er… well, your name is Pansy and Viagra begins with a V, so… how about Violet?" Ginny suggested. "And you can make Niagara her middle name, and if the name Viagra ever surfaces on any paperwork, you can claim it's just a clerical error."

"Oh, yes! Yes, that's good! Oh, Ginny, would you please run and tell Theo?" Pansy begged, and Ginny nodded and left as Pansy fell back against her pillows, the baby stirring awake in her arms.

"Violet weathered that outburst well," Malfoy commented, moving forward and taking the seat next to the bed. "She's remarkably well-suited to being your child, Pansy."

"Be a dear and take her for a moment, would you, Draco?" Pansy asked, and Malfoy reluctantly settled Violet into the crook of his arm as Pansy settled back again.

"Oh, I can't believe I almost named my daughter after such a thing," Pansy sighed, pressing her hands to her face. "I'm a terrible mother already and she's barely been out of me for a day."

"You're not terrible," he replied as he lightly poked at Violet's pudgy little face with a finger. "You just don't know shit about Muggles, that's all. It's not like any of us Slytherins do."

"Draco, please don't curse in front of Vi," she chided. "Hmm, that's a good nickname. I've been secretly calling her that for the last few months, on account of that _other _name, but it works with Violet, too, doesn't it?"

"Weasley's clever that way," he remarked idly. Violet flailed a tiny arm, unable to effectively bat his finger away from her face. He poked it into her hand instead, smirking when the tiny fingers clutched at it. Pansy reached over the side of her bed, retrieving a camera and snapping a picture. Draco blinked away the aftereffects of the large flashbulb.

"Thanks, now I can't see a bloody thing," he complained.

"Again with the filthy mouth!" Pansy chided as she put the camera away.

"She's too little to understand, Pansy. It hardly matters," he whined. "What, no _Muggle _camera?"

"I thought about it, but it turns out – can you believe this, Draco – _the pictures don't move!_"

"Of course they don't; ours move by _magic,_" he muttered."What was the last insane Muggle thing Theo bought you, some sort of device for making toast?"

"A _toaster, _Draco! Pity, though, we couldn't find anyone knowledgeable enough to wire our house for that eclectic-rickety thing the Muggles use for the plug, so we had to charm it to work on magic instead."

"You really want something Muggles call _eclectic-rickety _running all through your house? In _wires?_ Sounds like a bloody deathtrap, and you, wanting to bring some helpless infant home to that…" He ceased his complaint in favor of returning his attention to Violet.

"You're not half bad at that," Pansy observed. "Have you given any thought to children of your own? Of course, it would be helpful to have a woman first. What about you and the Weasley girl?"

Malfoy glanced up, his face a mix of annoyance and… something else. Pansy narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked at him. Yes, that was it; he looked as if he'd been caught at something, and was covering it with irritation.

"Please, Pansy. I've just been recruited by the Falcons. I have neither plans nor time for children or marriage or any of it at present. And as for Weasley and myself… the Prophet's full of rubbish, you know that," he said evasively.

"I also know when you're leaving something out, Draco. Maybe you and Ginny aren't the 'new royalty of Quidditch', as Rita Skeeter so colorfully puts it, but something did happen between you, didn't it?"

Malfoy sighed, knowing he wouldn't get out of this until Pansy had her answer, and she had cunningly saddled him with holding an object that he couldn't conveniently throw at her while storming out in a huff.

"Yes, something happened. I think you've already guessed as to what," he replied.

"You shagged last night after the ball," she stated. "That photo was exactly what it looked like, then. And has this happened at any other time?"

"No, just the once, as far as sex goes."

"And as far as what else?"

"We spent the night together a few times, just sleeping. Or passed out, more like," he sighed again.

"And did you find that satisfying?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What? I just told you we didn't have sex those times," he grumbled irritably.

"I know," she responded, "and there was something you liked about it anyway, wasn't there?"

"Yes," he replied at last. "I liked… I liked that she was comfortable with me there, or staying with me, whichever it happened to be. I liked that she didn't treat me like some…"

"Like some big, bad Death Eater?" Pansy smiled knowingly. "Not many would be willing or able to overlook that aspect of your past, it's true. How do you feel about her?"

"I don't know, that's just the problem. And now that I've had sex with her, I don't know how I _can _know. Everything's all jumbled now, like it's throwing me off. I can't stop thinking about it and I can't seem to control what comes out of my mouth around her anymore, either."

"I can see that well enough. I've never known you to speak so readily about anything that didn't involve bragging." At this, Malfoy grunted sourly. "Tell me, how does she make you feel about yourself?" Pansy asked curiously.

"What the hell kind of question is that, Pansy?" he snapped, causing Violet to fuss in his arms. He scowled and rocked her, shushing softly.

"The kind that will bring clarity," she replied. "Now think about it, and answer if you can."

"She makes me feel like…" he hesitated as he thought about it. "Like she's really looking at me, like it's _me _that she sees, and not my family's money or name, or this bloody mark on my arm. And the scary thing is that I don't think _anyone _has ever made me feel that way, even before the war, and I honestly don't know what she's seeing. I don't know what I _am _besides those things."

"The answers will come, Draco," Pansy said with the air of a sage imparting great wisdom. "I don't think you should let yourself quit on the Weasley girl until they do."

Rather than offering a response, Malfoy took to prodding Violet with a finger again, and once more she started to fuss.

"Oh, just give her back if you're going to do that," Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not hurting her," he replied. "I'm doing it gently."

"No, you're just _annoying _her. Why must you always do that?"

"Do what?" he asked as he returned Violet to her mother.

"Make yourself such an irritant when there's the slightest risk you might have to be sincere."

"I don't know," he sighed, leaning back in the chair.

"Do you do that with the Weasley girl?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked at him searchingly.

"Not so much," he replied.

"Perhaps there is hope for you yet," she said, breaking a smile. "We Slytherins have to find some way to let go of the past, you know."

"Do you think Theo ever will?" Malfoy asked pointedly. This time it was Pansy's turn to sigh.

"I think your choice of companions may have come as a not unpleasant surprise. Theo's aversion to you is as much about his own guilt over the things he wanted – _thought _he wanted – back then, as it is anything to do with what you did."

"I can't get this mark off of my arm, Pansy, no matter how much I may wish it," Malfoy replied. "Theo's rather fortunate not to have made the same mistake."

"There but for the grace of the gods, Draco," she stated calmly. "Give it time."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "Now, why am I really here? This can't be simply a matter of seeing my picture in the paper."

"Oh, I assure you, it can be," Pansy smirked. "That gossip is interesting enough to trade on for weeks, and I had to see it for myself. She's quite good for you, I think."

"But?"

"But… you're right. I brought you here to ask you something important."

"The answer is yes."

"I haven't even asked yet. You should never agree to anything a Slytherin requests of you without knowing fully what it entails. You should know that better than anyone."

"You're going to ask me to be Violet's godfather," he said lazily.

"Really, Draco. That's presumptuous of you." Pansy said. Malfoy only looked at her with a raised eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "You're right, of course. How did you know?"

"Who else would you ask?" he smirked.

"So you'll do it, then?"

"I've already said I would." His smirk widened to a grin. "Besides, you have _no _idea how much fun I'll have when I retell this Viagra story at her wedding."

xxxxx

Ginny had caught up with Theo in time to add the new name to the corrected birth certificate. Pansy had been ecstatic and the afternoon passed with small talk that only occasionally verged into prying, though the nature of that prying led Ginny to wonder exactly what Malfoy had said to Pansy in her absence. Nonetheless, Pansy was not unfriendly, particularly since Ginny had saved her daughter from a fate of terrible nomenclature, and Ginny was forced to admit that the Slytherin girl was changed, indeed. Ginny had even volunteered her father as a potential source of information on the ways of Muggles, however dubious a source he could sometimes be.

"Violet was rather cute," Ginny remarked as she and Draco wended through the sterile hospital hallways at the end of visiting hours, making their way back to the fireplace in the visitor's lounge.

"I didn't expect her to be so small," he replied. "Pansy's due date was over a week ago."

"They always seem smaller than you expect when you see them new like that. Usually you don't see babies until they're a little older, when their parents are finally comfortable with taking them outside," Ginny said, shifting her gaze to the side in a sly glance. "Why, did this suddenly change your opinion on the subject?"

"What? Gods, no!" Malfoy said, clearly startled. Ginny began to laugh.

"If you could see the look on your face," she cried in between giggling. "Really, I didn't think you could get any paler."

"Well, you're really beginning to frighten me, Weasley. I'm concerned you're getting ideas." His tone was joking, but Ginny thought she heard an edge of seriousness to it, confirmed when she caught him giving her a nervous glance.

"Technically, you never asked me how I felt about it. You only told me how _you _felt," she stated, hesitating only long enough to watch what little color remained in his face drain further. "But no, I'm not particularly keen on the idea, at least not anytime soon. I've got a Quidditch career to think about, and… well… I'm really not ready to become my mum, you know?"

Draco gave her a weak, shaky smirk, looking more relieved than anything. She wondered why, if he wasn't planning on being around that long… but then she realized that was something _he _hadn't specifically said.

"That, I think, was going to be a problem between me and Harry," she continued, avoiding the direction her thoughts had taken. "It was pretty clear from fairly early on that he was going to want a big family, he's always been a bit envious of mine, and I didn't know how to tell him I didn't want that, too. Once his Quidditch career took off, he would have considered himself settled down enough for it… and then what would have been left for me but to raise seven kids of my own? I just wasn't ready for that at all."

"Seven?" Malfoy asked, appalled. "Surely Potter didn't want… _seven?_"

"I'm sure he didn't," Ginny said, laughing. "That's how many my mum had, though, so it's what I think of."

"Seven. I knew there were a lot of you, but, Merlin, my parents only managed _one._"

"I think I could manage two or three at the most, but… I really don't want that right now," Ginny confessed. "I can't even believe I'm telling you this."

"Why wouldn't you?" he asked.

"It's just something I've never managed to tell anyone. I couldn't bring myself to tell Harry even though I should have. I can't even begin to think how Mum would take it. I feel like she'd be terribly disappointed."

"Why? With seven kids, you'd think she'd have enough opportunities to have grandchildren."

"She's already got one, and Bill's wife is expecting another as well," Ginny replied, "but I'm the only girl, and I think she's always expected me to follow in her footsteps, that's all, or at least hoped if not expected."

Ginny fell silent, and Draco let the silence hang between them for a moment before he spoke again.

"Pansy told me Violet was born night before last."

Ginny looked up at him sharply. "I'd thought she was born sometime yesterday."

"No. Very late the night before, as it turns out. You realize what that means."

"She was born on my birthday," Ginny said, a small smile playing over her face.

"I should warn you, you can probably expect to hear from Pansy again in the near future," Malfoy added.

"Why?" Ginny asked, perplexed.

"You did her a good turn today. She won't forget that."

"You're telling me I should expect loyalty from a Slytherin?" Ginny smirked.

"We have our own brand of loyalty, after a fashion, even if it's not immediately recognizable to Gryffindors," he answered her smirk with one of his own. "Besides, she can't resist the urge to meddle, and she's firmly convinced that whatever the story is between us, it isn't over yet."

"Is it?" Ginny asked, aware that her words were loaded with meaning.

Malfoy looked her over appraisingly for a moment. "If I can't honestly say yes… then I suppose the answer is no," he admitted cautiously.

Ginny felt a swell of emotion at his words, though she kept it carefully hidden. It was a feeling of excitement and… yes… even of hope.

They made the rest of the walk to the fireplace in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Ginny, for her part, couldn't stop thinking about what Malfoy had said… unless she was pausing to dread the impending confrontation with her family. When they finally reached the fireplace, she eyed it with apprehension.

"Do you think you're ready for this?" she asked quietly.

"Have I got a choice?" he replied wanly. "Really, how bad do you think it'll be?"

"They're probably on the verge of disowning me. Ron, at the very least, may attempt to hex you," she replied, reaching for the tin of Floo powder on the mantel.

"Best get it over with, then."

Malfoy slipped into the fireplace behind her and anchored himself to her with an arm across her chest as she threw the powder down and announced, "The Burrow."

The green flames leapt up to carry them off, and the sterile hospital smell and clean, white walls of St. Mungo's fell away in a whirling rush of ash and brick.

* * *

**A/N: See? Pansy isn't too horrible... but the Weasleys might be! I'll admit this chapter isn't strictly integral to the story but I loved writing it. If you liked it, please review and let me know! =)**

**My thanks to fari9986, Nutmeg44, babyscardinal, darinmeg, kenswife, Greenstuff, Princess Pheonix Tears, sing-me-this-lullaby, mykk47, amethyst-rose, bluelover13, Mrs. Dimoski, PixieDust319, Baby Got Black, shana rose, Nacilme, muminSarita, lalunafour, and blissfulxsin for reviewing since the last update! =D  
**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is T.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Whew... finally... this chapter has been nagging me forever, and really refused to come together. Couple a bout of personal drama with that and you've got some wicked-nasty writers' block... but here it is, finally! **

**I also took some time during that to launch a new project that has really helped to get me back on track: if you like darker fare, it's a Draco/Ginny(eventually) fic called _In the Face of Death,_ and you can find it on my profile. The goal here is not for that fic to distract me from this one, but to keep me from getting distracted that I may continue writing both.  
**

* * *

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 27: The Lions' Den  
_**

The visit with Pansy Parkinson had gone so well that Malfoy wondered, in retrospect, if wanting things to go well with the Weasleys may have been too much to hope for.

The Weasleys had gathered around their dinner table, and all were staring at him. He glanced around apprehensively, though outwardly he didn't look particularly bothered. He tapped a foot on the floor, the only betrayal of his inner nervousness, and it went unnoticed by all but Ginny, who spared him a nervous glance of her own.

He couldn't be facing the entire Weasley clan; a simple head count told him that much. The parents were there, and three brothers; obviously the other twin would not be putting in an appearance, but that still left them short. As far as he was concerned, the fewer the better. Pity Ronald had to be there, the interminable wretch, and naturally Harry Potter was glued to his side. _As if Potter would miss this for the world…_

Harry sat across from Malfoy, spearing him with an angry glare that he supposed was meant to be frightening. Malfoy allowed his lip to twitch into a faint sneer, goading the dark-haired man across from him but going unnoticed by the others at the table. Ron likewise sat across from Ginny, fixing his sister with an unpleasant glower, and an older brother – Percy, Malfoy thought, the former head boy – sat on Ron's other side. George, always an unknown quantity, sat at the end of the table to Draco's left, and Arthur Weasley watched over the gathering from the head of the table with trepidation while Mrs. Weasley began to circle the table and dish out food.

"There you go now, that'll stick to your ribs," she declared, scooping an obscenely large portion of mashed potatoes onto Malfoy's plate, repeating the process with everyone else as she made her way around the table, muttering, "Too thin, too thin," as she went.

"She does know seekers are _supposed _to be thin, right?" he asked Ginny under his breath. He stuck a fork in the potatoes experimentally, looking faintly horrified as it stood up on its own. "I really don't want that sticking to my ribs, Weasley, on top of whatever else I'll be expected to eat."

"It's alright, George will eat what you can't," she replied, nodding to her brother, who was already eyeing Malfoy's plate with gleaming eyes. "Dad, will you help with mine?"

Arthur glanced around furtively to make sure his wife wasn't listening before giving her a slight nod.

"Bloody cheaters," Ron muttered angrily as he brazenly scooped up half of Harry's potatoes for himself.

"Hey, not so much!" Harry exclaimed, reclaiming some of his stolen food with a handy spoon.

"Well, I believe we all know why we're here," Arthur began hesitantly as Molly returned to the table with the next dish.

Ron glared sullenly at Ginny and Draco as he shoved his potatoes around his plate.

"I'm not entirely sure why Harry's here, actually," Ginny ventured.

"He's here because I invited him," Ron sneered. "Surely I'm still allowed to do that? Invite people home, I mean? Just because _you're _done with them…"

"Ron, we talked about this," Molly said warningly from where she hovered behind Arthur. "Harry's always welcome, of course, but…"

"This isn't any of his business," Ginny said, her voice going cold. Harry's gaze shifted from Malfoy to her, darkening noticeably.

Ron threw the copy of the Daily Prophet onto the table with a loud smack. "Really? _This _isn't his business? His ex-fiancée on the cover of the Prophet snogging his enemy like some common street trollop isn't his business?"

"Ron!" Molly shouted. "I really don't think-"

"Of course it isn't his bloody business!" Ginny cried. "For one, not everything is about Harry, and for another, I was never his fiancée!"

"Only because you ran away before I could ask," Harry growled, then flinched as though he'd been kicked under the table, his glare snapping back to Malfoy.

"Hermione tipped you off, I suppose?" Ron added. "Yeah, she's been doing a lot of that lately, stabbing people in the back…"

"I suppose that's why you didn't invite her as well?" Ginny seethed. "Because you might have had to deal with someone who's actually on my side?"

"Yeah, Ron… where _is _Hermione?" George spoke up from the end of the table, eyeing Ron meaningfully. "Off somewhere feeling blue because she caught you feeling Lavender?"

"What business is it of yours?" Ron spluttered. Ginny looked up in surprise; if Lavender was involved, it was news to her. If Malfoy looked anything, it was mildly curious at most.

"It's my business when I have to forgo my evening's plans to clean up your mess," George replied, his tone growing irritated.

"Oh, and what would those plans have been? Hanging around with Oliver?" Ron protested. "Yeah, those are real big plans, George."

George seemed to struggle with his response, but was saved from having to compose it by Arthur's interruption.

"Now, boys… Ron, you may not have been wrong, but… _interacting… _with Lavender in front of Hermione like that was not particularly kind. And George, your mother and I are very pleased to see you getting out of the house lately. It's good to see you taking an interest in friends again."

"Er… friends, right," George murmured awkwardly. "Thanks, Dad."

"What's all this about Lavender and Hermione?" Ginny asked.

"Right, that's not the point," Ron snapped, flushing red in the face.

"Fine. I'll just owl her later," she replied, taking on an airy tone.

"You can use my owl later, if you like," Malfoy offered, deciding it was time to ruffle Ron's feathers.

"_We have an owl, thank you very much!_" Ron barked.

"Thank you, Malfoy," Ginny said lightly, ignoring her brother. "I may do that."

"I have an owl as well," Harry volunteered rather nastily, wincing again as though someone had stomped on his foot beneath the table. He looked at Malfoy darkly.

"I have to say that this whole business is rather unseemly," Percy interjected, polishing his horn-rimmed glasses. "Some of us… namely _me…_ have a career at the Ministry to think about, and can't afford to be linked to such scandalous behavior."

"Well, Percy…" Ginny replied, struggling to keep herself in check, "I think that's a perfectly ridiculous concern. I'm sure no one at the Ministry cares what I do."

"One would think you'd want to look after your own reputation as well, now that you're a public figure," he persisted. "After all, you're not with Harry any longer, and people won't be quite so understanding-"

"Understanding about what, hm?" Ginny asked. "Understanding of the fact that I might want to have a life that's my own?"

"I don't think that's quite it," Malfoy murmured quietly from beside her. "I think we all know why we're really here."

"Now, Malfoy, we would have you here no matter who you were, seeing as you're… presumably… dating our Ginny," Arthur assured him. "It's nothing to do with your background."

"The hell it isn't!" Ron butted in. "It has everything to do with who he is, and who he was, and the fact that we can't be expected to sit around and let Ginny date a bloody Death Eater."

"I think Ron's got a point," Harry said with yet another glare at Malfoy. This time there came a thump from under the table as he was kicked in the shin, and he kicked back hard, though to his surprise, Malfoy seemed unaffected.

"Bugger!" George cried instead, reaching down to rub his shin.

"That was _you?_" Harry exclaimed. "But… _why?_"

"Because you're being a prat, and Ron is out of reach!" the twin spat.

"This is no way to behave in front of company-" Molly began to lecture when Malfoy stood up abruptly.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to use the facilities," he stated calmly, though Ginny could tell that his temper had been worn rather thin by Ron and Harry's insistence on bringing up his past.

"The hell you are!" Ron bellowed. "I won't have you pissing in _my _toilet!"

"Ronald Weasley, don't be ridiculous!" Molly intervened, turning to Malfoy with a somewhat forced smile of apology. "Of course you can use the bathroom, it's the first door off of the landing upstairs."

"Thank you," Malfoy replied, leaving the table and heading for the stairs.

"I can't believe you're treating him like he _belongs _here!" Ron snapped petulantly.

That finally did it; Ginny had enough at last.

"_RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!_" she bellowed, standing and slamming her hands on the table, causing the object of her ire to flinch. "What… _or whom… _I choose to do is a matter of privacy and none of _your _damned business!"

"This isn't _private!_" Ron spat, slapping the paper where it sat on the table. "You're parading it around for all of the wizarding world to see like some… some _scarlet woman! _Everyone, _everyone, _in wizarding England now knows that you've been having _sexual intercourse _ with _him!" _At the last part, he pointed angrily in the direction of the upstairs bathroom, leaving no doubt to whom he was referring as if there could be any doubt to begin with.

"Ronald Weasley, that is no way to speak to your sister!" Molly shouted, but to no avail; she was barely heard over the clamoring din as hexes and potatoes began to fly. The Weasley siblings had lost all semblance of control, and in the chaos, Harry Potter slipped out of the room unnoticed.

xxxxx

Malfoy retreated from the Burrow's kitchen and took the stairs quickly. He didn't really need to use the bathroom that badly, but he wasn't about to sit there being taken to task for his past affiliations by Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and he could tell that Ginny needed to scream at her family without him there. Sure enough, as he went through the motions in the bathroom, Ginny's voice carried up the stairs. He shook off and zipped, washing his hands before he left. He figured he would loiter on the landing for a minute or two, waiting a length of time that would be inconspicuous while allowing Ginny to blow her stack in his absence.

When he exited the bathroom, he found Harry waiting for him, having slipped away just after he did. The dark-haired man was leaning on the wall across from the bathroom door, arms crossed over his chest, a belligerent expression on his face. Oh yes, he would definitely be lingering here for a few minutes, and by the look of it, not by choice.

Harry pushed away from the wall, grabbing Malfoy by his shirt and, turning, slammed him into the same wall he'd just vacated.

"Easy, Potter," Malfoy growled warningly. "Wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

"Listen, Malfoy," Harry spat venomously. "I don't know what you did to Ginny, but I won't stand for it. You so much as lay a hand on her, and I'll have something to say about it. You'd best watch yourself."

"Whatever did… or didn't… happen between Weasley and myself," Malfoy hissed dangerously, "is none of your business."

"I'm making it my business," Harry replied angrily.

"You know what, Potter?" Malfoy remarked, his expression turning thoughtful. "I think I just realized why you were so bad at Potions all those years ago."

"Oh really? Why's that?" Harry snapped, his voice dripping sarcasm as he tried to follow Malfoy's unexpected train of thought.

"It's because you don't know the difference between bringing a cauldron to a simmer and a full boil," Malfoy bit out as he shook Harry off.

"… What?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Exactly," Malfoy replied with a sneer, heading down the stairs. "I'll leave you to think on it."

Apparently Harry did just that, because a split second later he gave an angry roar and tackled Malfoy down the stairs.

xxxxx

The kitchen was in chaos. Ginny had caught Percy in the face with a bat-bogey hex meant for Ron and George had used his wand to siphon up all the mashed potatoes in sight and had subsequently blasted them all over his younger brother, who was now vomiting slugs thanks to a follow-up curse from Ginny. Ginny had emerged largely unscathed but was nearly purple in the face from screaming at her potato-covered, slug-vomiting brother. The Weasley parents were beside themselves, both shouting to try to break up the fray, not yet wanting to begin jinxing their own children with leg-locking spells and the like.

It was therefore little surprise that they did not immediately notice when Harry and Malfoy came crashing down the stairs. Malfoy had flailed instinctively on being rammed by Harry and had managed to get him in a headlock, so that when they tumbled down the mercifully short flight of stairs Harry landed face-first, breaking both his glasses and his nose, and Malfoy landed squarely on top of him.

"You broke my dose, you fugging git!" Harry bellowed through his sudden congestion as blood streamed down his face, rolling over to grapple with Malfoy further.

"You broke it yourself, Potty, you idiot! Don't you know that you're supposed to _push _people down stairs, not tackle them and go along with?" Malfoy shouted back as they scrabbled.

The ruckus finally caught the attention of the Weasleys, who turned to watch; Ron looked ready to go for his wand in Harry's defense, but hurked up a slug instead.

"Malfoy!" Ginny shouted. "That isn't helping!"

Malfoy, who by some miracle had managed to retain his position on top of Harry, rolled his eyes.

"Fine, Weaslette, I'll fix it," he replied with a sigh, drawing his wand.

Harry, seeing this, struggled more, and Ron nearly bit his latest slug in half out of agitation as it attempted to exit his mouth.

"Stop it, Potter, before it hits you in the eye," Malfoy barked, and Harry finally stopped struggling as Malfoy pinned him and leveled his wand. "_Episkey,_" he muttered, and Harry's nose popped back into its correct state of being with a hideous cracking sound.

Harry shoved his way out from under Malfoy and went to stand by Ron, whose slugs were beginning to ebb.

"This… has been… an absolute _nightmare,_" Molly Weasley cried, her voice rising to a savage howl. "Slugs on the floor… food everywhere… Ronald Weasley, I am thoroughly disgusted with you for starting this! And Harry…" her voice faded to a sad, tearful murmur, "I am so disappointed."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry muttered, staring at the floor in shame. "I think perhaps I'd better go."

"I'm going with you," Ron said, following Harry to the door.

"You aren't going anywhere, Ronald," Arthur chimed in, gesturing around the kitchen. "You'll stay here and help clean up this mess."

Ron glared at his parents and threw an angry nod toward Ginny and Draco. "Make them clean it," he spat, and headed out the door.

"I hate to interrupt," Malfoy said quietly, consulting his pocketwatch, "but if we're to make it to my parents'…"

"Ginny, go get yourself cleaned up, dear," Molly said, waving her youngest off toward her bedroom upstairs.

George and Draco silently zapped various cleaning spells at the mess, but the kitchen was still in a shambles by the time Ginny returned.

"I hope you'll consider coming back again," Molly offered weakly, to which Malfoy nodded graciously, although both had their doubts as to whether that would ever actually happen. "Ginny, dear, I'm terribly sorry this went so badly. I told your brother not to invite Harry, but you know Ron when he's set on something."

"Yeah, Mum, I know," Ginny replied awkwardly.

"Bloody prats, both of them," George added, looking up from where he stood, eating what remained of the mashed potatoes from the serving bowl.

Ginny and Draco wandered outside and apparated away as Molly dismissed George, who went up to his room to finish his dinner of potatoes-only. Percy was already long gone, having fled during the uproar; in all the chaos, no one had even noticed that he'd left.

"Arthur," Molly sighed miserably, looking up.

"Yes, Mollywobbles?"

"There are mashed potatoes on my ceiling."

"Yes, there are," he replied gently. "But this house has seen far worse."

"We can't let Ron keep carrying on like this," she continued. "I'm worried for Ginny too, you know, but… but I want her to have a chance at finding her own happiness, like I did with you."

Arthur reached for Molly's hand, twining his fingers through hers as a glop of potatoes detached itself from the ceiling and hit the floor with a splat.

"Don't you worry, Molly. This will all get sorted out… just not tonight."

xxxxx

Ginny popped back into existence with an immense feeling of disorientation that had her staggering on her feet. Malfoy had taken her arm and apparated her away from her parents' yard, and now he gripped that arm to steady her.

"Alright there, Weasley?" he asked.

"Ugh," she groaned, regaining her balance. "That was so horrible. I mean, I know my brother's an idiot, but I didn't expect him to invite Harry. I should have, but I really hoped he would have better sense… And I can't believe my parents let all that happen. Tonight was a complete disaster."

"I don't think your parents just let it happen," he replied. "What could they have done other than yell, and they did plenty of that. George was a surprise, though."

"Yeah, there is that. I really didn't expect him to take our side," she agreed. "I'll have to thank him later."

"See, it wasn't all bad," he offered with a wry smirk.

"Yes, it was," Ginny replied, becoming morose again, which she supposed was at least better than shaking with rage as she had been when they'd apparated. She looked around, finding herself on a grassy expanse bordered by a high wall and a pond, beyond which lay a wooded area. "Where are we?" she asked in surprise.

"We are on the grounds of Malfoy Manor," he answered. "We could have Flooed, like we did from the dorm and St. Mungo's, but you've changed clothes and rid yourself of thrown food so it seems a pity to get you dirty. Besides, I thought you could use a moment to collect yourself before you run the gauntlet again."

"With your parents, you mean," she clarified, and he nodded. "Just the two of them?"

"Yes, just the two. We can't all have insanely large families, Weasley," Malfoy drawled with amusement. "But please, no hexing. My father knows curses that would do far worse than curl your hair, even though he won't be inclined to use them… probably."

"I think I can handle that," Ginny said, smiling faintly for the first time since leaving the Burrow.

* * *

**A/N: Wow, my wonderful readers, over 300 reviews? I'm so excited! Also I hope this was all the Weasley mayhem you were hoping for. If you liked this chapter, please review and _feed the writer!_ =D**

**My greatest thanks to Elle Xue, Nutmeg44, Princess Pheonix Tears, Nacilme, darinmeg, Baby Got Black, curlygurly82, mykk47, fari9986, Kay8abc, tricks-meuler, Aikoyu Saotome, Satary, shana rose, kristinfrog, amethyst-rose, babyscardinal, blissfulxsin, NelenaCalden, Dracosbaby7, PixieDust319, writingdowndreams, muminSarita, Scorpiusforever, and like a falling star for their wonderful reviews since the last update!  
**


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is M for suggestive content.  
**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!  
**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny.**

**Author's Note: Didn't I just say I was getting back into a regular update schedule? I'm very sorry for that. I've been prone to respiratory illness since I was a kid, and as insane as this sounds, there was a massive wildfire not too far away from where I live and I got sick from all the stuff in the air. Yeah, lame, right? *eye roll* Anyway, I'm better now. So here's a new chapter! =D  
**

* * *

**The Name of the Game**

**_Chapter 28: The Serpents' Lair_**

Ginny wasn't certain how a house could seem airy and stuffy at the same time. Nonetheless, Malfoy Manor pulled it off. The foyer was a cavern of cold, echoing marble, decorated with a sparse array of paintings mounted on the walls and antiques perched on small tables that made her cringe at the thought of inadvertently knocking one over. She'd probably have to spend the rest of her life paying for the damage.

"I should warn you of a few things," Malfoy said as he led her through a set of double doors into a large parlor which was decorated in elaborate baroque-style furniture that Ginny found rather ghastly.

"One, it is quite possible to become lost in the Manor if you don't know your way," he continued. "If you should become lost or if you have need of anything else, call for a house elf. Two, if you should happen to become enraged at my parents and wish to leave without having me apparate you, please do so by the fireplace in the main hall. The Manor and the grounds are heavily warded and only those who live here are able to apparate in or out."

"So I'm trapped here?" she muttered, thinking of the very likely possibility that his family, too, would choose to be unpleasant as hers had done. "That's fantastic."

"You aren't trapped. You just have to take a specific route out if you intend to go unaccompanied."

"Anything else?" she asked with a roll of her eyes.

"Yes. The furniture is rather garish, but don't insult it. It's my mother's pride," he said with a grimace.

"I wouldn't do that. I was raised with manners, you know," she huffed.

"But you were thinking it, and I can't say I blame you. Now, do you want some tea or something while you wait?"

"Wait?" Ginny looked startled. "You mean you're going to leave me here?"

Malfoy sighed and settled his hands on her shoulders.

"I would have no problem with you accompanying me while I change for dinner, but my parents will not believe we're only friends if you come up with me. We did a poor enough job convincing _your _family as it is."

"Your parents aren't even home. We're early," Ginny pointed out. "And you could just wear what you have on."

"My mother would have a fit if I sat down to dinner like this. And parents have an inconvenient way of turning up when you least want them to. But if you think you won't be alright down here on your own, I can have a house elf stay with you," he said, smirking.

"Of course I'll be alright, and I don't need my hand held by a house elf!" she snapped indignantly, rising to the bait. "Just, what am I supposed to do if your parents come back while you're gone?"

"I'll be less than ten minutes. Just be your charming self and try not to get hexed by my father."

He flashed a grin and left the room, leaving Ginny to wait. She settled on an overstuffed sofa with spindly carved legs, feeling like she could do no more than perch uncomfortably on the ornate piece of furniture. Everything in the room was white with gilt trim, and the brocade upholstery was a shockingly vibrant shade of gold. She leaned over and examined the sofa's seat beside her, her eyes widening. It looked as if there was real gold spun into the fabric somehow, though it hardly seemed possible; it must have been done magically, and at great expense. And she was sitting on it. Fantastic. She looked around the room for a safer place to sit, but all the other chairs looked just as expensive.

As the minutes passed she began to fidget. A small gold clock sat on the mantel of a fireplace that was presumably not Floo-accessible, ticking out the time as its gleaming parts whirled and spun under its glass dome housing. She waited and waited, and soon it was not ten minutes that had passed, nor fifteen, but twenty, and no sign of Draco. She quickly began to feel impatient, and anxious at the possibility that his parents might arrive before he was back.

She wandered, first out into the hall, where she could not possibly miss a large ascending staircase. He'd said up, so she guessed his bedroom was upstairs somewhere… how many floors were there above this one? She tried to think back to the look she'd gotten at the exterior of the Manor as they'd approached it from the grounds. Even in the dusk she could see that there were at least three or four in total, or had it been five? In the fading light, it had been difficult to tell, but surely no more than four…

After several twists and turns, she finally had to admit that she was indeed lost. The hallways of the Manor were not exceptionally complex but they were many, and they all looked much the same, long and lifeless with rows of doors, some double, some single, but all of the same design. There were few landmarks to go by either, unless one counted the antique artifacts and portraits that were spaced at regular intervals, but she lacked the knowledge to distinguish one luridly patterned vase from another, and the portraits were all of spitefully sneering blond wizards. Blowing out an annoyed breath, she decided it was time to summon a house elf.

Come to think of it, just how _did _one summon an elf? She had only ever dealt with Dobby, who was not exactly a typical example of house elf behavior. She tried thinking back over the various times Hermione had lectured her on house elves in the name of SPEW, but now that she thought of it, the bushy-haired girl had only ever ranted about how wrong it was that elves could be summoned on a mere whim like slaves, but not on how the summoning was actually done. But house elves _were _magical creatures, so…

"Erm… help?" she asked the empty hall, and a second later a house elf appeared in front of her with a pop.

"Bertram is helping the Miss?" it offered by way of introduction.

"Er… yes. I would like to find Draco's room, please," she stated plainly.

"May Bertram ask _which _of the young master's rooms Miss is wishing to find?" the house elf asked, ears twitching downward nervously.

"Um… the one he's presently in, I suppose," she replied uncertainly. _How many rooms could Malfoy possibly have? _She fought the urge to smack her own forehead when she actually thought about it. Only three people lived in this huge place, so for all she knew, he could very well have his own floor.

"Yes, yes. Miss is following Bertram now, if Miss pleases," the house elf said, relieved at being able to provide satisfactory service, and beckoned her down the hallway.

Backtracking two hallways, taking a left she had missed, and going up an additional flight of stairs brought her to her destination. The elf led her through a small sitting room and into a rather gorgeous bedroom, both done in very masculine, Slytherin tones of dark green and black with the occasional touch of silver. Overall the rooms spoke of wealth but were not overly fussy, and Ginny found that she quite liked the effect. For the first time since arriving at the Manor, she understood how someone could actually live there. The elf pointed across the room to another door.

"Young master is in there, Miss. Bertram is going now?"

"Er… yes, you may go. Thank you," she replied, and the elf became slightly watery-eyed at being thanked, but fortunately vanished without the display of hysterics that had been typical of Dobby while he still lived.

She strode across the room, grasping the handle of the door and pushing it open. At the last second she thought perhaps she ought to have knocked, but there had been two other doors in the bedroom besides this and the one through which she entered, and surely the elf wouldn't have led her to a bathroom or something. But as the door swung wide, she saw that it was _exactly _what he had done; Malfoy stood facing a mirror that had clearly been charmed not to fog in spite of the moisture hanging in the air, dressed in nothing but a towel draped around his hips, making this the second time in one day that Ginny had seen him like this. Considering the events of the previous night, she was beginning to find it all just a bit gratuitous.

He looked up from the careful inspection he'd been giving his hair, surprised at her sudden appearance in his private bathroom, though he found the pink flush on her cheeks pleasing as always.

"Haven't you heard of knocking, Weasley?" he drawled, arching an eyebrow in amusement. "Thank Merlin I wasn't taking a piss."

Ginny was _not _amused. "Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting for ages and I had to have a house elf show me the way," she exclaimed, just short of shouting at him.

"I felt a little dusty from all the Flooing today and I decided a shower was in order," he replied.

"And you felt it was appropriate to just leave me waiting for your parents downstairs?" she asked shrilly.

"What else was I supposed to do?" he asked, deciding to yank her chain a bit. "Did you want to join me? I'll be sure to ask next time."

She was positively scarlet now, much to his delight. He liked it when she was this flustered. As usual, it was almost _too _easy… but he had missed this lately. Before she could begin to splutter in a horribly unintentional impersonation of her hot-tempered brother of whom Malfoy did _not _want to be reminded, he continued.

"Would you mind waiting outside? You see, now I really _do _want to use the-" his words were cut off by the slamming door, and he couldn't help breaking into a grin.

When he came out of the bathroom again, still dressed in a towel, he was surprised to find her waiting on his bed. It took him a moment to process the fact that this was not likely to be an attempt at seduction – he'd learned in his time at Hogwarts that most other people did not have a private sitting room for entertaining their friends when at their parents' homes, and consequently had a tendency to use beds as extra seating. That he _did _have a sitting room made little difference; he was sure that Ginny just hadn't thought to use it, and she wasn't unwelcome anyway.

He felt her eyes on him as he crossed the room to his closet and disappeared inside (for naturally, his closet was that big, something else he'd discovered was not common to everyone.) When he emerged, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt which he had yet to button, he saw that she had taken the bed-as-seating arrangement one step further and had sprawled back on it. His bedding was, of course, done in dark green and black, and the contrast made her red hair and pale skin stand out almost luminously in comparison. The dress she'd worn to Diagon Alley, that day that seemed ages ago, had made a reappearance when she'd gone to her room to change at her family's home, having been successfully cleaned after the fire at her brother's shop. Being male, he wasn't particularly concerned with the delicate peachy floral print, but it did go well with her complexion, and more importantly, the _cut _of the dress was just right. It exposed just enough cleavage to bring to mind what her breasts looked like bared, as if he could forget, and the lower hem had ridden up, revealing the creamy pale flesh of her thighs. He could easily imagine trailing his fingers over her skin and up her skirt, or better, kissing a path up her thighs with his lips…

To describe the sudden tightness in his trousers as a mere _stirring _would have been an understatement. He was, to be crude about it, rock-hard and ready to go, and though he would have thought his brain would be left little blood to think with he discovered that this was completely untrue; in fact, his mind was rather unfairly treating him to a vivid replay of the night before. How she looked naked, the swell of her breasts pressed against him, her tight sex wrapped around him, the sounds she made as they had moved together… all were flashing through his mind, and then, in an incredibly enticing real life parody, she stretched against his bed and moaned, apparently in rapt enjoyment of the high-quality bedding.

As if a Malfoy would have anything less.

Before he could really think about what he was doing, which he really shouldn't be doing because they still hadn't completely sorted out where they stood, what they were to each other, he was moving closer, the buttons on his shirt completely forgotten.

_Gods, but this bed is comfortable,_ Ginny thought as she stretched. She'd been deliberately ignoring Malfoy as he dressed, but for sneaking glances when she was sure he wasn't looking; otherwise, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she liked how he looked in a towel. Now, though, she sensed him moving closer, and she did look, wondering what he was doing.

His eyes were dark with lust. Her own eyes widened as she realized exactly what she had been doing, how it must have looked when she'd stretched and settled herself more comfortably on the bed, that heavenly bed, _his bed on which her very presence was irrevocably fraught with innuendo. _She could have slapped herself for not thinking of it sooner, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

Such as the fact that the mattress dipped slightly under the weight of his knee, drawing her attention to the fact that he was now leaning over her, hands planted firmly on either side of her shoulders, bearing his weight as he hovered there. She shivered as his gaze swept over her body; he wasn't even hiding the fact that he was looking, and she couldn't fault him for that. His shirt still hung open, laying the pale, slim, yet muscular expanse of his chest and abdomen bare to her view, and she found her eyes repeatedly drawn to his exposed skin. She wanted to run her hands over his chest, around the back of his neck, into his hair; she wanted to feel his body moving against hers as it had last night, even though they had agreed it shouldn't happen again.

Then her eyes locked with his again, and he leaned in closer, his eyelids drifting almost closed as his lips hovered over hers…

The bedroom door flew open with a startling bang. Lucius Malfoy stood there, looking an alarming combination of righteously smug and _ever _so pissed off, while Narcissa hovered behind him, delivering a look of scathing irritation. Curiously, the latter seemed to be directed mainly at Lucius, who took no notice of it.

"Draco!" he snapped. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

Draco pulled back quickly, hoping the angle of his shirt, still hanging untucked, would hide the evidence of _exactly _what had been on his mind.

"I'm getting dressed, Father, what does it look like?" he replied, almost sounding sarcastic, _almost, _but he didn't quite dare to push his father at the moment.

"Well kindly _finish _getting dressed so that you and your _guest,_" he hissed the word _guest _with the utmost venom, "may join us for dinner!"

With that, he swept from the room with Narcissa following after, leaving the door wide open in his wake to make perfectly clear that privacy was not going to be tolerated, though unless he intended to lurk outside (which at this point would not have surprised Ginny at all) the sheer size of the Manor rendered the gesture purely symbolic. Nonetheless, Ginny breathed a momentary sigh of relief that she hadn't gotten hexed. _Yet, _she amended.

Draco, for his part, gritted his teeth and retreated to his closet, where he buttoned his shirt almost viciously but tucked it in with greater care in light of the fact that his trousers housed a painfully hard erection that would not be receiving relief anytime soon. His mind was filled with vile epithets directed at his father, layered over the now-irritating hum of unfulfilled arousal: _cockblocking bastard _was the foremost sentiment among these if not the most creative, though he truly wasn't certain what his intentions had been toward Ginny in light of the ambiguity of their relationship. Somehow, however, he suspected that the alternative scenario wouldn't have ended with him feeling so sexually frustrated that he could cheerfully hex his father into oblivion.

Dinner was a tense and tedious affair, though the roast was excellent. The Malfoys would hardly set a table with less, even if they were serving their worst enemy, which was how Ginny was beginning to think Lucius viewed her. After initial polite remarks were made over the food, the meal lapsed into silence, during which he glared at her while slicing his meat with unwarranted venom. Draco sat at her side, so tightly wound she was surprised he wasn't actually vibrating with tension, and Narcissa sat next to Lucius, evidently content to pick at her food while pretending that nothing was amiss.

At the midpoint of the meal, while Ginny was nibbling at a side dish she could not pronounce the name of, Lucius apparently decided he could hold his spleen no longer.

"So, Draco," he addressed his son with a pointed, sneering look, "why don't you tell us about your little dalliance with the Weasley strumpet. I had intended to force the Daily Prophet to print a retraction, but in light of the scene we walked in on earlier…"

Narcissa, suddenly looking incredibly vexed, let her fork fall with a clatter as her mouth pinched to a thin, tight line. Ginny felt a prickle of heated embarrassment in her cheeks and knew she was flushing that damnable bright red for which her family was famous. Draco merely paused, taking a steadying breath as he carefully rested his knife and fork on his plate, and looked up at his father slowly, an angry sneer uncannily like his father's spreading on his face.

"'Strumpet', Father? 'Dalliance'? Tell me, have you been reading Mother's romance novels again?"

"I have done no such thing!" Lucius spluttered, paling to the point where Ginny was convinced he would turn green. Narcissa met Draco's eye across the table, a conspiratory gleam in her own.

"He dog-ears the pages he likes," she sighed as though bemoaning her own fate. "Dreadful way to treat a book."

Ginny struggled to let no trace of a giggle escape her as Lucius spluttered further denials which apparently no one present believed.

"This matter bears further discussion," Lucius said finally as he regained the ability to speak coherently.

"After dinner then," Narcissa reminded him firmly. She dabbed daintily at the corner of her mouth with her cloth napkin, and the meal resumed in silence once more.

After dinner, they relocated to the parlor at Narcissa's insistence. Once more, Ginny found the furniture expensively uncomfortable, though it was nothing next to the discomfort that hung in the air as the subject of their status came up for discussion again.

"Really, Draco, I do think it's high time for you to explain yourself," Lucius said, interrupting small talk that Narcissa had been exchanging with them on the subject of Pansy Parkinson's baby. She glared at her husband, but he continued on. "Are you going to tell me it isn't what it looks like, that the paper was wrong, that you merely tripped in your room earlier and fell on top of her?"

"Lucius," Narcissa said warningly, but the head of the Malfoy family would not be denied.

"Or perhaps you'd like to explain what you were doing in my son's room to begin with, Miss Weasley. On his bed, no less – oh, I know. Perhaps you were searching for Dark artifacts, hm?" the elder Malfoy smirked derisively. "Runs in the family, does it? Although I must say, for as little as he ever found, your father is quite the failure. Well, as they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Ginny's eyes widened. She felt frozen on the spot; she couldn't believe the things he was saying and therefore couldn't immediately formulate a response. Narcissa looked absolutely livid, and Draco's lips were pressed together grimly.

"I do hope you understand that whatever may have happened between you, you are simply not a suitable match for the Malfoy heir," Lucius continued. "I will not have my bloodline polluted by Weasley trash."

Ginny was on her feet before she knew what her plan was, although apparently part of her plan involved reaching for her wand. But she quite suddenly found Draco's arms around her, one pinning her arms to her sides and the other clamping a hand over her mouth.

"If you'll excuse me, Father, I think it's about time for me to see Ginny home," he said with obviously false courtesy, sending a scathing glance in his father's direction. Lucius merely arched an eyebrow as Draco pulled Ginny backward and out of the room.

Narcissa rounded on him, eyes blazing. "Lucius, how could you say such dreadful things? You'll drive her away!"

"What of it? She's only a _Weasley,_" he drawled indifferently.

"She's the first girl he's brought around in years, since his school days!" Narcissa huffed. "I won't have you running her off because you can't let go of your silly grudge against Arthur Weasley!"

"He doesn't need to be spending time with her! He needs to be settling down with a _proper _woman who can give him a proper heir!" Lucius snapped. "Why couldn't it have been the Parkinson girl? Draco could have gotten her before she went off and married the Nott boy…"

"Because he didn't _love _Pansy!" Narcissa cried.

"Nor does he love the Weasley girl. This is only a… a rebellious phase, you'll see," Lucius replied stubbornly, fully in denial.

"But the _prospect _is there! Surely you aren't so blinded by your loathing of the Weasleys that you can't see that!"

"All the more reason to get rid of her now," Lucius seethed. "A Weasley is not a proper mother for a Malfoy heir."

"I don't _care _about having an heir! I want _grandchildren, _Lucius!" Narcissa wailed in frustration.

"They're the same thing," Lucius drawled dismissively.

"No, Lucius, they most certainly are not," Narcissa sighed heavily. "I don't want to have to do this to you… but if you don't leave them alone, I shall never re-enact a single scene from _Pirate Prince Lucian and the Witch of the Sea _with you again."

Lucius froze, a look of horror on his face.

"You wouldn't…" he whispered, his voice rough with distress.

"You won't believe what I would or wouldn't do," she replied haughtily.

"But… but… _Pirate Prince Lucian _is my favorite!" the former Death Eater whimpered, looking absolutely crestfallen.

"You had best remember that then. If you cross me on this, I will tear page 273 completely out of the book," Narcissa replied with a smirk, knowing the day was hers.

xxxxx

Lucius waited until his wife was asleep that evening before retreating to his office. Perhaps _he _couldn't openly defy Narcissa, but that didn't mean he had to sit around doing nothing. He drew a scroll of parchment from his desk, took up a quill, and began to pen a missive that would set in motion a cunning plan indeed.

A framed photo on a shelf caught his eye. The witch in the picture waved merrily. Lucius's lip curled in an unpleasant grimace, and with a light flick of his wand, the picture tipped forward and lay face-down. No, now was not the time for guilt. Now was the time for action. His family's good name hung in the balance.

After all, family was everything.

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**A/N: And Lucius is an idiot, to the surprise of absolutely no one. But are Lucius and Narcissa missing the point just a little bit? I think so. =P**

**I now have over 350 reviews, which I find absolutely amazing! My thanks to Maurelle, Elle Xue, Princess Pheonix Tears, Baby Got Black, Nutmeg44, curlygurly82, Scorpiusforever, babyscardinal, Nacilme, Nelena Calden, Aikoyu Saotome, bingbangboom5, RaeRaeMae-xoxo, Kaleena-S, darinmeg, Dracosbaby7, blissfulxsin, teddyandlilyforever, lavenderab, amethyst-rose, EvilNugget, Dobby555, Miss Scarlet Darkness, delicious Blacks'LOVER, Abya Rosu, shana rose, Greenstuff, I Believe In Thestrals, Forested, kalira, Kay8abc, and eeyorebaby951 for reviewing since the last update! VERY SPECIAL THANKS to lavenderab for reviewing every chapter in one sitting!  
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	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (nor any of the other characters, sadly. Wouldn't mind a Draco!) Please don't sue me. I have nothing of value anyway.**

**Rating: Now rated M overall. This chapter is rated T for no particular reason.**

**Spoilers: DH compliant, except epilogue. All seven books are fair game!**

**Pairing: Draco x Ginny, mention of George x Oliver.**

**Author's Note: I have been gone for so long, but this story has always been with me. As many of you know (if you are still reading,) a few months before I stopped updating, my grandmother passed away. The stress of that event exacerbated an undiagnosed thyroid disorder, and completely unrelated to that condition, I dealt with the diagnosis of a bone tumor in my leg (thankfully benign, but it was a very frightening time.) **

**In any event, I have never wanted this story to end up on permanent hiatus, and so I am back. Some readers guessed at some developments with George and I hope those readers are still around, because you were right. This has been planned since the beginning. ;)**

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**The Name of the Game**

_**Chapter 29: Lost Halves**_

Ginny and Draco apparated back to the road outside the Burrow, taking the walk to the house slowly. Her temper seethed beneath the surface and she struggled to keep it tamed. She could no more hex Lucius Malfoy from here than she could actually see the gnargles Luna spoke of from time to time. The one person there on whom she could vent her frustration was the one person she truly didn't want to hex with flying bat bogeys.

The stars seemed large in the night sky, and Ginny felt that if she wanted, she could reach up and grasp one in her hand. That was silly, of course; even wizards understood basic science, at least where astronomy was concerned. But still, with Draco at her side, the stars glittered brightly, and hovered close. Why he should make such a difference she couldn't say, or rather, couldn't yet admit to herself.

"I'm not ready for this night to end," she said quietly.

She would have been unable to imagine herself doing so only hours earlier in the wake of her family's riotous behavior. Unless what she actually meant was that she didn't want to go home, which was distinctly possible.

"You have to go back sometime," Draco replied. "But, Weasley... Ginny. I want to see you again. Not just for Quidditch and not just because we were in the papers. Whatever we are, I feel it's too precious to let go."

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart sped in her chest. The stars above seemed dizzying in their brightness, gleaming like heated silver, like his eyes.

"Come with me," she said, holding out her hand to him. "Come with me to the broomshed."

"Why, Ginevra," he said, lip curling lasciviously.

"Not for that," she replied, tugging him toward the rickety wooden structure. "Come fly with me."

She opened the shed and there was his old broom; she reached for it and offered it to him.

"I'd use it but one shouldn't offer one wizard's broom to another, and I'm afraid Fred and George's brooms are the only others I'd feel right about using. I wouldn't be surprised if Ron's tried to hex it so I'd go bald if I rode it or something. Usually he's a bit of a bungler with anything more complicated than basic defensive magic or stirring Mum's mashed potatoes, but every now and then he pulls something off."

"Ah yes. I have very fond memories of the time he tried to hex me and ended up vomiting slugs down his front. Reminiscent of today, wouldn't you say?" Malfoy grinned, then sobered slightly. "I'd have deserved it, of course, for what I said about Granger. I'm lucky that one has a more even temper."

"Draco... The past is something you can never change," Ginny said, remembering what she'd later been told he'd called Hermione that day, remembering the path Draco had already been headed down by then, and what that fate had stolen from all of them. "But all we have now is this. This moment, this flight. Come and fly with me."

She tucked the old broom under her skirt and kicked off, giving not a whit for her dressy shoes as they rubbed into the grass and soil. And the world fell away, like always, as she plunged upward into the night sky and its spiraling stars.

"It's like none of it matters up here," Draco said from very near her ear, the distance between them easily closed by the difference in brooms.

She smiled faintly. It was as though she was beginning to get used to the similarity of his thoughts to her own.

"I wonder if we'll ever become one of those old couples-"

"Who finish each others' sentences?" he smirked, and her momentary knot of worry at having just said that aloud dissolved with the sound of his laughter. "Please, Weaslette. It was completely obvious what you were about to say."

"I still shouldn't have," she said, smiling in return. "It's a bit much for where we are now."

"I don't think so," he countered. "We are where we are. We don't have to decide what's too much if we don't want to. Our rules, Ginny, and no one else's."

"This is ours," she breathed. He nodded, nudging closer, caught her hand in his, trailed his fingers through her hair, pressed his lips to hers.

They'd done this before, on brooms or on the ground, under the stars, and it felt like home. As they floated above the yard where she'd grown up, the house where her family lived, it felt that way now more so than ever. There they remained as the night wore on and the stars circled overhead, trading words and secret kisses, hidden from the prying eyes of the world.

Though, as it turned out, they were not hidden from the prying eyes of one other Weasley in particular.

xxxxx

A thin tendril of smoke curled from the lit end of the cigarette, glowing cherry bright in the otherwise darkened open window that overlooked the broomshed and the yard. George sat, breathing the still night air before he took another drag. Dirty Muggle habit, he thought with snicker. Thanks for that, Fred.

He was surprised that watching Ginny in a private moment with her apparent new beau didn't inspire something more like Ron's particular brand of enraged sibling distress. Bill's scars could be laid at Draco Malfoy's feet almost directly, and countless deaths at the feet of Death Eaters in general, Fred's death among them.

"How should I feel about that then, Fred?" he asked the silent room. There were still two twin beds in it, though only one of the inhabiting twins remained. A quilt made by their mother when they were but children was spread over it, and a battered old teddy bear leaned against the pillow. The bed was rarely made when Fred was alive; he just hadn't been so inclined to neatness, meticulous though he had been in applying knowledge and effort to making their magic tricks and confections.

"Never poison a customer, isn't that what you always said?" George laughed softly, and his smile faded. He took another drag from the cigarette. "I've been so tired for so long, Fred. Didn't know how to go on without you, my other half. Still don't, but would you believe it, it happens anyway. One day follows another and before I know it, years have gone and I'm still here, and your face gets a little further away from me every day in the mirror. Never thought I'd say I missed your face, Fred."

He looked out the window again as Ginny's laughter floated gently on the breeze, too soft to be heard without the window open. Luckily Ron wasn't home anyway, probably drinking away the night's disasters with Harry.

"I do miss you, Fred. Every day. But that's the thing; I'll never stop. There will always be an empty space at my side without you in it. But I see Ginny like this and I realize she's found a way to move on. I should be angry, but I'm not. Not with her, not with him, not with what they have."

He stared into the night, his sister faintly limned in starlight.

"If there's hope for them, Fred, might be there's hope for me as well, and if there is I have to try."

His gaze shifted back to the teddy bear on the empty bed.

"I only hope you can forgive me for letting you go."

xxxxx

Ginny's back pressed up against the wall next to the kitchen door as Draco kissed her thoroughly. He pulled back a moment later, just looking at her, at the way the soft glow of a low light in the kitchen shone through the glass panes set in the door, making her hair look alight like burning embers. He stroked his fingers down a lock of crimson.

"I had best be going, before this turns into something neither of us wants to play out on your parents' porch," he said softly. She nodded and he leaned in to kiss her once more. "I'll see you again soon, Ginny."

She watched as he walked back down to the road and apparated away in the dark, blowing out a heavy sigh. She thought about the night, about that day. Visiting Pansy at the hospital seemed ages past but had really only been that morning. And somehow Draco's family had managed to be almost completely courteous compared to her own family's barbarism. How she could face them all again, she didn't know. Her anger at Ron, the shame she felt before her parents...

And she was ashamed. She knew she didn't need to be, but she was all the same. If she were a better daughter and a better Weasley, she wouldn't want the things she wanted. She wouldn't want to play Quidditch and date the former Death Eater while snubbing the boy hero. She'd want to marry said hero, her brother's best friend, build a Burrow of her own, and have children to fill it. She felt like she had betrayed her family. And wasn't family what the Weasleys were all about?

But... She wanted. She wanted so many things. She wanted to ride the wind and chase the sun and catch the Snitch. She wanted to feel its little golden wings beating against her fingers to the time of the thrill of victory pulsing through her heart.

And she wanted him, Draco, most taboo of all.

Ginny pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit kitchen, heaving a sigh as the door closed at her back. At least she wouldn't have to face her family again until morning. She didn't know what she would say to her parents, what decision she would make about Draco... Perhaps it was better that she didn't think of him that way, better that he should remain Malfoy, with all the venom that name inspired in the people she loved.

But it just might be that he was becoming one of those people.

"Tea, Gin?" a low voice spoke from the shadowy corner by the breakfast table. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

"George, I could hex you!" she hissed, grumpy as she recovered from her fright. "What are you doing down here, sitting in the dark by yourself?"

"Waiting for you. We should talk, Gin. But I really do have tea," he said, pushing a lightly steaming cup across the table.

"Think I'd rather have gin, but thanks," she grumbled, taking a seat opposite him. Her finger toyed with the teacup's delicate handle. "What do you think we need to talk about?"

"Things about you. Things about me. This thing with you and Malfoy," he sighed.

"Merlin's bloody beard, are you going to give me the brother-knows-best lecture too? Because Ron's already had a go and I'd rather not hear it twice," she huffed.

"On the contrary," he paused a moment, getting his thoughts in order. "This life, the past, they've taken so much from us, Gin. And we deserve to get something back. We deserve to find our own happiness." He glanced up, meeting her gaze. "There's someone... Someone I've known a long time, actually, but I've only recently realized there may be the chance for something more, and it's a chance I want to take."

"George, that's wonderful! Tell me all about her. Do I know her?" Ginny asked excitedly.

"You do, in fact." George took a deep breath, steeling himself. "It's Oliver."

"Oliver Wood?" Ginny's eyes widened.

"Yes, Oliver Wood, unless you know some other Oliver that I've been spending a lot of time with lately," George said, rolling his eyes fondly. "Well go on, say something!"

"I don't know what to say! Only, I'm relieved," she replied. "I was worried... Honestly, I've been afraid you'd never find anything to live for outside of the shop."

"You mean outside of what I have left of Fred," George replied. "I know. I've been thinking the same for some time now. And when I ran into Oliver at your training camp this summer, it was like a missing piece just clicked into place. He could never replace Fred of course, but it seems there's an Oliver-shaped space in my life as well."

"That's wonderful," she repeated, truly happy for her brother. She reached across the table and clasped his hand in her own. "And Oliver. Really. I couldn't have guessed that he fancied men... Although I never really thought about it."

"There's a reason I'm telling you all this now, Gin," George pressed on. "I always thought, with whomever I ended up, that Fred would always be right there too. You know how we were, no one could ever be top priority to one of us but the other. And to have someone now feels like... It feels a bit like shutting the door on Fred, choosing to ignore that empty space he should fill. But it isn't that way, not really. The point is, Ginny, that I can't just do nothing for myself because Fred isn't here. That emptiness will always be there, but it doesn't mean that emptiness has to be my life. And you need to do what fulfills you, and you can't let our feelings, or rather Ron's and Harry's feelings, be the deciding factor."

"I have felt a bit like being with Draco... Well, whatever we are to each other... is a betrayal to Fred, and to Bill. So many people suffered and died, and the Death Eaters are to blame," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

"And the worst, the ones who carry most of the blame, are dead or rotting in Azkaban," George said evenly. "Malfoy didn't skate by chance, he was let off because he was a bloody child when he was roped into it and he didn't do anything that made him irredeemable. That, and the few good things he did turned the tide for us. And Ginny, now more than ever, I have to believe that those of us scarred by the war have a chance to live and to love and to be happy. I have to believe that for me, and for you, and that means I have to believe it for Malfoy too."

Ginny suddenly launched from her chair and threw her arms around her brother's neck, hugging him tightly.

"George, you're the best brother I could ever have, and you always have been," she whispered.

"I suppose I am, at that," he laughed softly.

"And," she added, "I know Oliver will make you as happy as you deserve."

xxxxx

Draco apparated into the foyer of the Manor, hindered neither by wards that prevented him from apparating in with company nor by training camp rules that required him to use the Floo. He heaved a sigh. The day could have gone worse, could hardly have gone better, all things considered, but facing facts, their families hated each other. It was plain as day, and though being with Ginny lifted him up until he could hardly feel how mired in the past he was, once her presence began to fade he was again oppressed by the weight of his burden. It didn't really help matters that he felt it was a burden he carried justly, a burden he deserved.

He headed up the grand staircase and followed along corridors he knew well. So many horrors had been witnessed under this very roof, and yet it was still home, its halls echoing hollowly with cold familiarity. He was about to make his way to the third floor when he spotted a light casting a thin line from the crack beneath the door of his father's study. Curiosity drove him down the hall; he didn't know what kept his father up at such a late hour, but if the night's events had set Lucius to plotting something, Draco wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

He raised his hand and rapped a knuckle against the door.

"Enter," Lucius said imperiously from within.

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed lightly on the door handle. The door swung open to reveal Lucius's richly appointed inner sanctum. A large fireplace spanned most of one wall, no fire burning as it was yet fairly warm, and a large portrait of Draco's grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, stared down upon them with ill-concealed disapproval; it mattered not what he disapproved of, as Abraxas's portrait rarely displayed any other expression. A black padded leather sofa with silver accents laid into the wood trim sat in proximity to the fireplace, with an antique lacquered table resting before it, both upon a green Persian rug both venerable and valuable, charmed to withstand wear accordingly. Bookcases filled with tomes thick and thin, ancient and new, lined the walls, interrupted by the door through which Draco had entered and the large window opposite through which owls came and went. Draco saw no activity there at the moment.

At the far end sat his father's desk, monolithic, a monument to the man. It too was lacquered deep black, gleaming in the lamplight like the back of some malicious, venomous spider. The corners and feet bore silver caps, polished to a high shine like the wood of the desk, which was carved decoratively down the front, the design distinctly serpentine and wound around a large letter M. The entire room spoke to the identity that was Lucius Malfoy.

"Why, Draco," Lucius said, in his best surprised-but-not-really tone of voice. "What brings you to see me this evening? Perhaps there was something you wished to discuss?"

"I think you have some idea what I'd like to discuss, Father," Draco replied.

"I'm not at all certain I do. Please enlighten me," Lucius said, smirking in a way Draco found all too familiar.

"I should hope there aren't going to be any repercussions against the Weasley girl after tonight's meeting," Draco said, letting a suggestion of ire slip into his voice. "I wouldn't be particularly happy about it."

"Oh my, well, we can't have that," Lucius replied with a slight scoff. "After all I suppose your happiness is paramount, even if that means taking in strays..."

"Father..." Draco growled warningly through gritted teeth.

"Make no mistake, Draco," Lucius hissed. "Your mother may be content with letting you play out this little dalliance but I? I will protect the bloodline this family carries, the name my ancestors built. That is the true priority here."

"If you meddle in this, Father..." Draco stopped short of an outright threat. Directly challenging his father might well goad the man into some worse action than whatever he was presently scheming. "This conversation isn't over," he said instead.

"I believe you'll find that it is," Lucius said silkily, the snake charmed for the moment. "For now. Do run along, Draco. I have further business to attend before I retire for the night."

Recognizing that his father would brook no refusal, Draco was about to leave when he spotted the turned down picture frame. He tipped it upright, his curiosity overriding his sense of decorum. It was an old photo, black and white, of a young witch sitting jauntily astride a broomstick in mid flight. Every now and then she waved to an unseen crowd.

Draco glanced at his father with an upraised eyebrow, but Lucius's gaze was steady and cold, betraying nothing. Draco left the office, taking the path to his rooms with rote familiarity, his mind on something else entirely. The witch in the picture had seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't place her, no matter how hard he tried.

* * *

**A/N: So many people offered their reviews and support in my absence, and several PMed to ask when this story is coming back. I was in the habit of giving everyone thanks individually and I would like to do so again, but so much time has passed since the last update that it's a bit overwhelming. So I offer my thanks to each of you who read, reviewed, messaged, or otherwise lent this story your support and praise, and to those who are reading it for the first time as I hope some will do. Thank you all.**

**I promise the next chapter won't take quite so long. ;)**


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